


Home is Where the Hatchet Is

by Beautiful_Infinity



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Multi, Sticky, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-06 22:32:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_Infinity/pseuds/Beautiful_Infinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starting from when Sunny and Sides first join the Ark's crew. Future Twins/Ratchet. Minor pairings on the side. pr0nz and slashing. You have been warned. Don't like, don't read. CHAPTER 10 NOW UP!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Hai Thar. Lookit me, updating something. So this my new and probably truest fandom. TRANSFORMERS! w00t! Hopefully I can keep up with this, huh?
> 
> So Disclaimer: I ownz nuthin... aside from a few OC's but they don't play major roles. More like cameos.
> 
> Warnings: Future pr0nz and slashing! that means male mech/male mech. Don't like don't read.
> 
> EDIT! :: A few spelling errors and such now fixed! Thanks to those who pointed them out to me. Much obliged!

The golden warrior shuffled down the hallway under his brother's weight, his red counterpart groaning in pain. Their first fragging battle after transferring to the Ark had not gone well. At least, for his brother. They'd been working on a form of fighting that they called 'Jet Judo'. Anything to get those annoying and screechy Seekers out of the air and into a fair fight. They'd only tried it a few times before and it had seemed to work, but against the Elite Trine, as Sunstreaker had learned courtesy of some annoying little red fragger, a few times just wouldn't cut it. What were they supposed to do? It's not like they had anybody to practice on. The few flying Autobots they'd ever come into contact with were wary of them at best and terrified at worst. Every bot they'd ever encountered seemed to have something against them without ever knowing them. They only had each other. Which was why he was marching the red glitch to their least favorite place in any encampment. The slagging Medbay.

It was common knowledge that medics didn't like dealing with their kind. And by their kind, it was meant that any bot who had 'bloodthirsty' tendencies. If Sunstreaker wasn't standing right there to make sure that the medics in charge of his brother were doing their fragging jobs he was positive they'd allow him to offline. It was vice versa as well. But much more so. Neither of them was considered savable apparently.

But he couldn't very well reattach an arm and patch a gaping hole in the side himself. It was unfortunate, but he needed a medic to keep his twin online. "Fraggit Sideswipe!" He cursed, dragging his slowly offlining brother past nervous soldiers. Most would take one look at his face before averting their optics and shuffling by as fast as they could.

It was with a strange mix of relief and apprehension that the golden frontline warrior reached the medbay doors of the Ark. Aside from their initial physical when they had first joined, they had yet to actually enter the medbay since joining their CO and his crew. So with his customary scowl, Sunny stepped through the Medical Bay doors.

The first thing he always noticed was the stares. Many of the medical assistants were looking at them nervously, none of them wanting to deal with the obviously on edge warrior, but unwilling to just forget that there was somebody injured. Many averted their gazes and continued whatever they had been doing.

"Fix him." Sunstreaker growled dangerously, watching in growing irritation when all of the staff hesitated… Until one bot stepped out of an office screaming at the top of his vocal proximity.

"I don't fragging care that he's a Towers Mech! He gets to wait in fragging line like every other injured mech before –" The tirade that was obviously about to start was cut off when he saw the twins, one obviously about to drop off from either energon loss or the fragging hole in his side. The red and white medibot was suddenly a flurry of movement. "What the slag are you all standing around for! Get him on a berth! Hoist! Give me a hand with this!"

For a moment, Sunny was at a loss for words as Sideswipe was carefully taken from him before he could really process what was going on, his twin being supported across the medbay by the yelling docbot and whatever assistant he'd called over. As soon as his processor had caught up, he was launching himself at his brother and grabbing an arm, surprising the one called Hoist and earning a withering glare from the red and white mech.

"You're going to fix him?" Sunstreaker growled, remembering to make it a question rather than a demand. He was so very tempted to. It sometimes seemed to be the only way to get his brother any help at all. He didn't trust this mech any more than the nervous little grunts he had working around him on other injured mechs.

"If you slagging let go you fragger!" Sunny felt the energon boil in his lines, his protectiveness of his brother beginning to override the need of a medic. This guy was obviously a loose screw that was just on his way to the scrap heap via processor glitch and he wasn't sure he wanted his brother in his hands.

Hoist was staring at his boss, wide-opticked. "Uh, Ratchet…" He flinched when the medbot's glare turned on him. "Y-you – um, you may wanna tone it down."

Ratchet snorted and pulled a wrench from subspace, slamming it over the golden twin's knuckles. Sunstreaker yelped in surprised pain and immediately drew his hand back in a knee jerk reaction, freeing his brother's arm from his grasp. "I know who he is, Hoist. And I'll be slag if I let him offline a patient because of his insecurities!"

Sunny was livid and was about to launch himself at the CMO with murder in his optics when a red hand suddenly snaked out and twined itself around the neural cable in his neck. He stopped, feeling a jolt down his spinal relays when there was a sharp tug on said cable. The tug brought him face level with the smaller mech. The smaller, snarling mech.

"Now you listen here, Sunstreaker." The mech said low and dangerous. "Your brother is going to die without any medical help soon, and as much as you obviously hate it, this is the only medical team on board the Ark. As it so happens, I know the exact layout for your frame type and with a pull on the cable I'm holding now; I can paralyze you until it's reconnected. And so help me, Primus, if I have to, I will! Now let me help your brother and stay out of the fragging way!"

Sunstreaker was at a loss for words, but when he saw the conviction in the doc's optics he backed off, though not entirely. He retreated to a medbay nearby and allowed the nervous little grunts to work on him while he surveyed the medic shouting orders and working on his brother. It was methodical, and concise, but seemingly far too easy for Sunstreaker's liking as he watched the red hands dance through his brother's internals, soldering leaking lines, replacing key components and fried wires before His brother's side was being worked at with a welder as Ratchet placed temporary plating over the hole in his brother's side. Sunstreaker clenched at the med berth under him, his own damage having long since been taking care of with nervous fingers that had scratched his paint more than once. It was taking everything he had not to tear the torch from the doc's hands and throw it across the fragging room and away from his brother. The constant thrum of his and Sideswipe's bond was the only thing rooting him in place at the moment.

Finally, finally, the CMO was finished and beginning to put his tools down with a long suffering sigh. Probably couldn't wait to get rid of them. He tensed as the overly bright optics turned his direction. "You're brother will be fine, but I want him in here for a check up tomorrow. He can be moved to your own quarters once I remove him from stasis, but he needs to be careful until I can get that temporary plating replaced and painted over. He'll be on light duty until further notice. As soon as your brother is up, you two are to get to your quarters and rest."

Rest was the last thing on Sunstreaker's processors, but glancing at his internal chronometer, he was surprised to see that cycles had passed without him realizing it. He'd been so concerned about his brother he hadn't noticed that the time had slipped by. Now it was late into the joor and most mechs were probably in recharge. And looking at his brother, he could see the major differences compared to how he had been when Sunstreaker had dragged his aft through the halls. He wasn't grimacing in pain, and his plating was replaced and welded back together. He still looked roughed up, but that was only cosmetic damage as far as Sunstreaker could tell. Nothing a little buffing and paint couldn't fix.

"Then wake him up." Sunstreaker replied shortly, none of the relief he felt bleeding into his tone and already knowing that Sides was gonna throw a fit over the light duty. There was no way this little med bot was going to keep them from the frontlines. He knew that Sideswipe would completely agree.

The medic's optics narrowed to slits, but he flipped a switch and allowed the machines connected to the red twin to drain the sedatives from his systems. They both watched as Sideswipe cycled on his optics once, twice and a third time to adjust and sit up. No sooner had he done so with a groan when a wrench was colliding with his helm, setting his audios ringing and forcing another groan from his vocalizer. He clutched at the offended spot as his brother bolted to stand straight, his fists clenching at his sides as if he were imagining strangling the medbot. He probably was.

"Are you glitched!" He snarled while his brother rubbed at the small dent in his helm. Where most would have cowered away, muttering apologies or pleas of mercy, Ratchet merely glared back just as dangerously.

"I should be asking the two of you that." He snorted, cherry hands moving to rest purposefully on equally cherry hips. "Don't think I don't know what the frag tyou two crazy pit spawns were doing out there. I've heard of you two and that pit fragged 'Jet Judo' you're so fond of. Bots call you devils with wings. Sounds to me that you're just asking for a death wish. But I can promise you one thing. You won't be getting any fragging sympathy from me for your crazed idealisms!"

Sideswipe pouted while Sunstreaker continued glaring icily. Their opinion of the CMO was, if possible, worse than most other medics they had met and they had spent only the one evening in his company. After having sorted through his brother's memories of when he was offline, Sideswipe was furious to find that the medic had threatened his twin. Sunstreaker was just pissed all around for the medic's rough treatment and refusal to be intimidated. If it wasn't so 'un-Autobot' like, this self righteous bot would already be in pieces. Sideswipe sent a wave of agreement over their bond.

Completely unaware of the creative thoughts of murder from the Twins, the CMO continued. "The two of you are on light duty until further notice. If I see either of your sorry afts in here within the next stellar cycle, I'll rebuild you into something unpleasant. Now, get the frag out of my medbay!"

After the enlightening joors spent in the company of the Autobot Chief Medical Officer, Sunstreaker was pacing the halls restlessly. How dare he! How dare that piece of weakling slag order them about! This one was so blatant in his dislike and it was obvious that the Twins weren't going to get any back up in their defense! He just dared the irksome medic to walk down a dark corridor alone!

Picking up on his brother's thoughts from their quarters, Sideswipe was inclined to agree. And that alone was putting his own ideas into his head.

'Hey, Sunny…'

'Don't call me Sunny!'

'Don't get your diodes in a twist, Sunshine.' Sideswipe grinned at the string of curses that followed his second favorite nickname. 'Seriously though. Who said we have to sit and take this kind of harassment?'

A questioning buzz was all he got in answer. Not that he was really expecting one to his rhetorical question in the first place. Instead he merely pushed his thoughts across the bond and he mentally noted that Sunstreaker had stopped his manic marching and was now standing in the middle of whatever hallway he had halted in. Apparently the mirrored grin on the yellow mechs faceplates was enough to make a group of minibots turn and head back the way they had come with nervous glances backwards.

After a moment of 'listening', Sunstreaker purred back across their bond. 'I like the way you think, brother.'


	2. First Impressions Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So here's chapter two. A big shout out to Darkeyes17! She helped me a bunch with this chapter. A portion of this is hers. And it tied in so nicely I might add. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Transfomers. I only mess with their processors D
> 
> Warnings: None for this chapter

Ratchet knew the moment he'd met them that they were going to be trouble. He hadn't been there for the initial physical, but the evening he'd spent repairing the crimson mech, Sideswipe as he remembered, had told him enough. He'd seen it in their optics. Ratchet had always prided himself on the ability to judge a persons character after an initial meeting. And what he had gotten from his initial meeting of the Twins was that they were going to cause him a lot of processor aches. Goody. Primus just absolutely adored him, didn't he? Pushing the immediate sarcasm aside, the Chief Medical Officer brought up first Sunstreaker's and the Sideswipe's service and medical records, displaying them on his terminal as he went over last evening's results on Sideswipe's side and arm.

Ratchet wasn't terribly surprised by what he read. The mechs had a reputation among former bases and squads as unpredictable, violent, disrespectful, troublemakers, etcetera….. The list went on. Sunstreaker, the golden twin, was known to be terribly vain and antisocial, as well as violent. He made a habit of sending comrades to the medbay with or with out all limbs attatched. Short temper, slightly over possessive and believed to be completely mentally unstable. Surprisingly, the Autobot CMO found he had to disagree with that sentiment. While it had rang true that Sunstreaker was more likely to result to violence when he felt threatened, he wasn't unstable. Not from what Ratchet had seen at least. Then again, he hadn't had the chance to check Sunstreaker's CPU himself, but he was fairly certain that, mentally, Sunstreaker was all there. If just slightly over enthusiastic. And maybe, just maybe, more than a little suicidal. Okay, he could see where 'not all there' could be drawn from.

Sideswipe on the other hand, had been describes as overly cheerful, with a morbid sense of humor. Odd choice of words. The crimson mech was reckless, much more disrespectful than his younger twin and had a devious streak that could circle the planet. Twice. Well wasn't that just dandy? There were numerous listings of him being thrown in the brig for 'not-so-innocent' pranks that had resulted in mechs ending up recharging on a medical berth for the night as well as immediate disrespect for orders or insubordination. His favorite tool of use was the jetpack he had strapped to his back, described as charging into battle with a war cry that threatened that of Ironhide's. that remained to be seen. As far as the medic knew, nobot submitting these reports had actually met Ironhide before.

It didn't help that most of the prank incident reports seemed to be from the medics at the previous bases. Ratchet could only conclude, in a completely logical, Prowl-esque way, that Primus officially took joy out of making his lifecycle miserable. His conclusion was strongly supported when he read into the two frontliers' medical records.

It was his professional opinion that the medics that had treated Sunstreaker and Sideswipe up to this day were complete idiots. There were several reports stating that one or both twins acted with unneeded violence in normal situations, such as one hovering over the medics treating the other looking intimidating, or threatening words when somebot came too close when tensions were wound high. And according to their professional opinions, both Twins needed to see a psychiatrist. It was glaringly obvious that none of the so called 'medics' had ever read up on split spark twins.

Granted, there wasn't much to begin with, but what there was should have explained at least most of what the medics had encountered. It was apparent to Ratchet that the over-protectiveness and aggressive possessiveness (huh, say that ten times fast) of each other was a common split-spark Twin trait. A split-spark was known to be two halves of a full spark, split just before the need to be transferred from carrier to protoform arose. It was only natural that twins should feel the need to guard and protect their other half. In every case study, it had been proven that should one twin offline, the other quickly followed. So it only made sense to watch the other's back, lest the other perish as well. The problem lay in the fact that because of already established bonds, it was difficult to get twins to interact outside of their twin bond.

The medic sighed heavily and shut down the warrior's medical records to pull up last cycle's diagnostics. A few were scheduled to come back for post-surgery or battle checkups, but overall, there had been a record low in the 'major injuries' department. Even after a huge facedown with the Decepticon heavy-brigade warriors. The worst had been the red twin, Sideswipe, and if his brother had not dragged him in… Ratchet shut down that line of coding before it fully processed. The worst had not happened. Sideswipe had not perished on his med-table like so many others before. Sideswipe was… Supposed to have been here several kliks ago.

Ratchet's optics narrowed to lighted slits and he raised a hand to activate the base wide communications protocol when the door to his domain slid open and the very mech he'd about to yell for came strutting into the room. Now that he had the time without the others spark threatening to gutter out on him, Ratchet decided that the frontline warrior was exceptionally good looking. His face was well formed, cobalt blue optics set over high cheek structures with a well proportioned nasal. The helm wasn't blocky, nor sleek, but an alluring yet curious combination of both with audial horns that reminded the CMO vaguely of a painting he had once seen on organic cultures… A dev-something or other. The cocky grin, although hard and distrusting to trained optics, further cemented the idea in his processor. And that honestly made him dread what the future had in store for him that much more. He didn't need another Tracks. Really.

'Primus, whatever I've done to frag you off, I'm sorry already!' The silent, semi-prayer was the only apology Ratchet was willing to give at the moment before it was down to business.

"You're late." Ratchet groused, transferring Sideswipe's scans to a portable pad. He didn't notice the hard edge of the grin slip into a confused and slightly surprised frown.

That… was not the first thing Sideswipe had expected to hear. 'Still alive, are we?' or 'Primus! Why couldn't you have made my life easier and NOT shown up!' were more or less what he was used to. Sunstreaker had been the receiver of far less kind comments. This mech though… he looked honestly upset that the crimson twin had not shown up on time. Weird…

His musing was cut short by an impatient voice.

"Well, what are you waiting for, an invitation?" He cast a glance into the scowling features of the CMO. "Hop up."

The red and white mech gestured to a medberth, one cherry hand sitting on an equally cherry hip which was canted to the side in his impatience. He was holding a pad in the hand that he had used to motion Sideswipe forward and to the berth. Sideswipe felt an optic ridge rise of its own volition. Brave, this one, ordering around a warrior that tore live mechs apart for a living. Brave… or stupid. Maybe, even both. After all, stupidity was known for making mechs do brave things. Primus only knew how many times he and his brother had been accused of just such a thing as stupidity.

Deciding to humor the poor, delusional mech, the crimson twin crossed to the berth with a steady gait, building enough momentum in his stride to slide a short ways across the surface a little. The resulting screech of metal against metal had the medi-bot cringing slightly, much to his satisfaction. The surprisingly clear crystal blue optics narrowed at him.

"Do not do that again." The warning was growled. Sideswipe merely grinned.

Ratchet ignored the cheeky warrior with a scowl as he set to work, checking the welds he's placed and seeing if the plating had set and could be repainted and finished. Of course he'd have to buff the welds flat first, but he got the feeling that neither Twin would appreciate that from him. So after making sure that nothing was going wrong, everything had set and was ready for repainting, Ratchet crossed to his drawers to retrieve the necessary scanner to check Sideswipe's internal diagnostics.

The medic paused after opening the drawer and stood there staring at it. It was… completely empty. "Huh."

"Something wrong, Doc?" Sideswipe's voice asked from behind him.

Ratchet ignored him and opened another drawer. And another and several more. No, everything else seemed to be where it was supposed to be. So where the frag were all his scanners? Well, all his hand held scanners were missing. Maybe Wheeljack had taken them… Or one of the Aides had misplaced them. He would have to check. Later. For now, he simply did not have the time and he turned back around with a highly unamused frown on his white faceplates. He stalked back over to the perplexed looking Sideswipe, but ignored him other than to order the frontliner to 'lay the frag down'.

So he didn't have his hand helds at the moment. At least there were the standing scanners. He would have to directly uplink those to Sideswipe's systems, via cable, but that was fine with him.

"Alright you cretin! You're good to go!" Ratchet grumped. "And send your brother in here."

Sideswipe once again looked surprised. "Why?"

"Because I need to give him his physical."

Now there was a curious frown on the frontliner's faceplates. "We already had them. When we first got here."

"Yes, but I wasn't here." Ratchet said in a matter of fact way. "I'd feel much better if I checked over everything. Especially seeing as you, your brother and a few others were assigned trainees when they examined you."

"What do you care? The doc in charge still cleared us."

"Did he check you over as well?"

"Well, no, but-"

"That fragger! When I get my servos on him….." There was an ominous promise in the incomplete sentence. Ratchet sighed quickly reigning in his temper before explaining to the thoroughly confused twin. "It's true that the only way trainees ever learn is hands on experience. However, I can't count the ways something can go wrong merely because a rookie overlooked something that seemed inconsequential at the time. And Overscore knows that! The fragger should have checked you over as a precaution…. So I'll be doing that in his place."

"Is that why this check-up took so long? Because you tied it in with a physical?" Sideswipe asked incredulity.

"Yes. And you'll want to buff those welds flat before you repaint, unless you like looking like you've been through a shredder. Now send your brother in."

There were few moments of Sideswipe just looking at him with disbelieving optics. Then he snorted and mumbled 'whatever' before hopping down from the medberth and stalking his way to the door.

"Oh and Sideswipe…" The red twin paused at the door to give the medic a curious look. "If I don't see him in here with the orn, I'm holding both of you to a 'negligence of duty' charge. I hear the brig is a nice time of place this time of the cycle."

Sideswipe gave him a hard look before he scowled and nodded with a sharp jerk and then he was gone. Ratchet decided that perhaps he had been too overdramatic at the beginning of the cycle. That had gone rather well. Absently, he replaced Sideswipe's diagnostics with Sunstreaker's, preparing for the golden twin's check-up as well. He scrolled through the information he had before cycling his optics closed and then open again, hoping he had read something wrong. Flicking down the report further, Ratchet frowned. He re-booted his optics once more. Surely, surely that couldn't be right.

For this particular report mentioned grave injuries to Sunstreaker. A broken helm fin, wiring ripped out on his left flank, a leg twisted and in danger of being completely severed. And yet, Sunstreaker was listed as having being treated as one of the last mechs. That couldn't be right. Surely any DECENT medic would know that those injuries could be potentially life threatening and would have attended to them right away.

Quickly pulling up other files from that particular battle, Ratchet was stumped. It was one of the Twins first battles with the Autobots, and there had not been too many injured. In fact, Sunstreaker's looked the most life threatening by looking at the words on the terminal. Why then, would he be treated last?

It was like something fell into place in Ratchet's processor.

It was the beginning of the distrust that the Twin's felt for medics. It explained their behaviour towards him when they came in.

The realisation wanted Ratchet to both rage and feel pity for the Twins. Such twin bonds were rare and they were often misunderstood. With a low growl, Ratchet promised himself that in his med-bay, all would ALWAYS be treated equally. Even twins.

Before he could work himself into a proper fit of rage, something crashed loudly behind him, startling him. He spun around, ready to jump at his attacker, but found nobody behind him. He glanced around cautiously before noticing something on the ground a few feet away. It was one of his scanners. One of his handheld scanners. Slowly, with a sense of horrible foreboding, the medic tipped his head back. There, apparently adhered to the ceiling of the Medical Bay, were all five of his handheld scanners.

"What was that?" Perceptor asked in curiosity, his helm swiveling to the door of Wheeljack's lab after the echo of the wordless noise died away.

Wheeljack merely grinned behind his mask plate, remaining hunched over his project. "That, my fine fellow, is the shriek of the wild Hatchet." His grin widened. "Looks like just another normal day on the Ark."


	3. ratchet the Hatchet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks for all the reviews! They keep me so happy and eager to add things! (hint hint) Another shout out to Darkeyes and one to my very good friend DeathStallion as well! They both helped me so much with ideas. Well, we introduce four more canon characters in this chapter. not that you weren't expecting them eventually, but it doesn't hurt to point it out.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, cause if they were, these pairings would be cemented.

"Been to see Ratchet, I see." The visored mech grinned in a mix of amused empathy. There wasn't anybot on ship who hadn't suffered the CMO's infamous wrath and berthside manners.

The scowl on the golden warrior's face would have scared any other mech off, but Jazz was a persistent fragger. The friendly Third In Command seemed to have a perpetual grin welded to his faceplates that really irritated Sunstreaker as he sat beside his brother in the recreational room of the Ark. His helm sported a nice sized dent that had his normally foul mood seething in a dark cloud of fury. Sideswipe was slowly inching away from his brother. He at least wanted to be out of hitting distance when the vain aft finally blew his top. He hadn't meant for his brother to get the bad end of the rust stick. How the frag was he supposed to know the medic would lose it over something so small?

Five cycles earlier….

Sunstreaker strode moodily down the hall, doing his best not to grind his denta together. Fragging Sideswipe! He could have waited to pull that stupid prank! Granted, he had been all for it, but that was before he knew he would need to report to the slagged piece of scrap of a medic! He could feel his brother's wordless apology over their bond and he firmly ignored it. For now. They would have to see how his own check up went. If that sadistic mech took out any of his anger on his beautiful frame, then Sideswipe was slagged. Big time.

Not bothering to hide his scowl, the golden frontline stood tall and entered the medbay with mixed feelings of apprehension and annoyance. Too many things had happened in previous medical bays for Sunstreaker to feel comfortable just walking into one. This was why he found himself at a loss for words when he stalked through the sliding doors and was greeted with the sight of a large red mech with wings on his helm and a ladder going up to the ceiling; and a grey white and green mech with helm fins that lit up as he spoke standing there in what was clearly amusement.

"Ratch, you sure you don't-?" The grey mech began.

"No! You can frelling well stay put Wheeljack!" It was then that Sunstreaker realized that the medic was sitting on the top most rung of the ladder and working methodically to remove one of his medical scanners from the roof. And boy did he look anything but pleased. "If you didn't have the common sense of Cliffjumper this wouldn't have happened!"

The large red mech flinched at the dark, sharp tone, but the mech called Wheeljack merely laughed, his audial indicators flashing an amused pink. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, Ratchet. After all, fresh recruits mean fresh pranks until you can whip 'em all into shape."

Ratchet grunted, finally freeing the second scanner and handing it down to the large mech who passed it to Wheeljack. "Primus, 'Jack! What even compelled you to make adhesive as strong as this?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "Call it a whim of fancy."

"I'll show you whim of fancy…" Ratchet muttered, moving to climb down so that the red mech could reposition the ladder. It was then that he noticed the yellow mech standing in the doorway. "Oh, you're here. Good. Wait over there for a klik." Ratchet waved towards the empty medberth to Sunstreaker's right.

For a moment, Sunstreaker felt relief wash through him. The medic obviously didn't know who had pulled the stunt in the first place. He immediately squashed the weak feeling. Of course the medic didn't know! Sideswipe wasn't an amateur. And this medic was also obviously so used to bots obeying him, it would never cross his processors that anybot would pull something like this. Or hadn't had to deal with it in a long while. Good. Teach the bot to be so fragging arrogant. Sunstreaker cheerfully ignored the hypocrisy of his own thoughts as he quietly crossed to the indicated berth and sat, arms folded sullenly over his chassis.

Ratchet had reached the bottom of the ladder and stood staring up at the remaining three scanners still adhered to the ceiling. He sighed, reigning in his temper and turned to Wheeljack. "Please tell me I'm not going to have to pull all those off by hand…"

The engineer was rubbing at his mask thoughtfully. "Well… I may have made a solution, but if I did it's in the lab somewhere. And I don't remember where."

"Well find it!" Ratchet said irritably, rubbing at the point of his chevron where it met his forehelm. "I don't have time to deal with it now. Thanks for your help Inferno; I may comm. you again later." He patted the large mech's arm before making his way over to Sunstreaker, one of his two freed scanners in hand and looking decidedly irritated. Susntreaker smirked internally, feeling his brother's pride over the effect of his prank.

Outwardly, he remained sullen and disinterested. "Is this going to take long?"

"As long as it needs to!" Ratchet snapped at him, in no mood for sass or attitude.

There was silence after that as the medic went about his business. At one point, the SIC Prowl, whom Sunstreaker had already met up close and personal; and who he very much did not like, had entered the Medbay looking for Ratchet. Sunstreaker couldn't help the sneer that had settled on his faceplates as said medic politely asked the tactician to wait. It was nearing the end when Ratchet found something that ground his gears in the worst possible way.

Sunstreaker had a ruptured coolant line that had not been fixed the bight before. Although not life threatening, it could be extremely painful, seeing as the warrior's coolant production would need to increase and speed up said production to make up for the lost fluid. A prod against the small wound proved that Sunstreaker could not be in any amount of ease and was, in fact, in a great deal of pain.

"Why didn't you come and see me about fixing this?" Ratchet's voice was deadly soft, an indicator for those who knew what to listen for that Sunstreaker was about to be the target of some not-so-tender-loving-care of the CMO.

"Why do you care?" Sunstreaker spat back and was only mildly surprised to see a flash of… something… deep in those sky blue optics.

The look lasted a span of a few astroseconds before the hard edge of the CMO's scowl won over. "Because I could have done something about it." He ground out, setting about to work on the tear and clear out the fluid that had been caught in Sunstreaker's internals.

"Didn't feel like it." Sunstreaker growled back, his muscle cables tensing further, as the touch came too close for his liking.

A loud CLANG echoed through the room, followed by a surprised and angry yelp of pain. After Prowl had finished cringing (although it was really only a sharp twitch of a doorwing) he looked up to the sight of a very stunned frontline warrior and a very fragged off CMO.

The stunned silence did not last long.

"What the FRAG is your problem!" Sunstreaker howled, jumping from the berth to tower over the CMO, who in no way look the least bit threatened or intimidated.

"For being a slagging idiot who doesn't know when something needs to be taken care of!" Ratchet yelled back, waving his wrench above his head as if about to strike again. "I could have fragging fixed that and you wouldn't have needed to sit there in pain the whole slagging time! Maybe next time you'll use your frelling CPU for something other than your pretty paint job!"

Sunstreaker's expression darkened, but before he could advance on the medic a small clearing of intakes brought his attention to the stern looking SIC. Sunstreaker growled and, without another word, turned on his heel and stomped out of the medical bay.

"Yeah, he doesn't seem to be the kind who gets a good joke." Sideswipe said airily, waving a servo as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Really, that was mile for some of the stuff I've seen." Which was true. A half-truth. He really had seen hardcore slag for pranks that met with not so friendly injuries. But he'd at least been the cause of a third of them.

The grin was still there, knowing, as if in on Sideswipe's little secret. "Gotta say, I'm impressed." Jazz said quietly, keeping his voice low so that the gossip hoarders of the Autobot flagship didn't catch wind of this. He noted that Sideswipe had straightened a little and Sunstreaker's demeanor radiated more confusion than black fury. To most, these would have meant nothing, but he wasn't head of Special Operations for nothing. "To pull a stunt like 'dat on the Hatchet and walk away took 'lot of ball bearings and careful planning. Not many 'ave the skills."

A contemptuous snort from Sunstreaker was all he got out of the golden warrior before he leaned back to rest against the wall their table was situated against, shuttering his optics halfway and promptly looked bored. Sideswipe, on the other hand, seemed to be having trouble fighting the urge to puff up with pride.

"Hatchet?" He asked, leaning forward. "That's an odd nickname."

Jazz snickered. "Ya can thank Prime fer that one. The two've known each other since the start o' da war and Prime uses it for his, ah, less 'den friendly bedside manners. And his wrench throwin' tendencies."

::Fitting.:: Sunstreaker muttered over their bond, but Sideswipe ignored it.

"You mean he's like that to everyone?" The red warrior asked incredulously.

"Oh yeah. Ain't one 'bot here who 'asn't suffered at the servos of our dear CMO." Jazz sighed, gulping down the rest of his energon before standing up. "But 'ere's a word o' warning, 'fore I go. Don't get outta hand wit yer pranks. You'll be making a lot o' enemies if Ratchet's hurt for real." And with a dangerous flash of his visor, the mech was gone.

There was tense moment of silence between the Twins before Sideswipe muttered slowly, "How did he – ?"

"You were probably careless." Sunstreaker interrupted him smoothly, not willing to admit that he knew Sideswipe was no amateur and wouldn't make careless mistakes so as to be caught.

"Maybe." Sideswipe allowed before they both sunk in on their own thoughts, neither willing to acknowledge the small tendril of unease the mech had given them with his parting words.


	4. One Prank Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this chapter took so long. Family crap happening and this was a choker to get through. This really is only the 'in-between' chapter to lead into the next. Lucky for you guys, I have the plot for the next three chapter already plotted out in my head! So you shouldn't have to wait as long XD
> 
> Read and Review?
> 
> Normal disclaimer: I don't own nuttin. -_-

Sideswipe had to hand it to the mech. He was fragging persistent. And just as stubborn as he or his brother. Shortly after his third prank and the fourth bucket of solvent that the medic had been forced to clean from his chassis, the medic had begun to get smart. Instead of just walking through the medbay doors now, he had programmed them to open when one was ten feet from them or he would wait if he needed to actually type in the code, giving enough time for whatever was waiting for him to hit the ground. He ahd also taken to hiding his more important tools where Sideswipe had yet to find. Sideswipe was not to be discouraged, however, and he had merely taken things up another notch.

Like repainting the medbay.

Neither he nor Sunstreaker could ever remember one sentence that had taught them every curse in Praxian, Iconian, or the common tongue (there were even a few in Kaonite). It was intensely gratifying to have forced the doc to lose his composure. Well. More so than usual.

Yet despite all of his successes, it really hadn't taken the medic long to figure out who the culprit (really culprits since Sunstreaker was his lookout more than half the time) were. Sideswipe was sure he'd had his suspicions before he'd actually been caught in the act, but the red twin had been good at hiding evidence of his involvement. He thought of that one incident as a planning mistake.

It had been his fault that he hadn't checked the schedule that day, thinking he would have enough time to set things up before the end of shift and the current Medic's Aid returned. Error number one with this ship; Ratchet didn't take days off.

So, pride bruised and helm dented, Sideswipe had sulked back to his quarters after punishment detail (courtesy of the SIC, the guy couldn't take a joke) vowing his revenge. He felt that the medic had seriously overreacted. Seriously! It was just a little explosive! Well, he wasn't really sure what it was, but seeing as he had swiped it from Wheeljack's lab and he had long since learned that the mech tended to build things that went boom without actually meaning too, chances were pretty good the thing would explode. And it was small enough that it wouldn't do any fatal damage. Probably.

He was pretty sure it didn't warrant a visit to Prime's office though.

After that day, Sideswipe didn't bother being secret anymore. Every missing tool, every new bucket of paint, every little effort to make the medic's life pit, he had left a calling card. Mainly in the form a 'finale'. Or he would make the effort to be there to see it. And each time it was insanely satisfying. Yet, regardless of the setbacks and grievances the medic was obviously suffering, he seemed to merely shrug them off as 'annoyances'.

So, naturally, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker began to up the ante.

Ratchet was seriously beginning to lose the last shreds of his patience. And it seemed that at this point in his life there were only ever two sources for such pain anymore. One of which was sitting in front of him with a very attractive snarl on his faceplates. Which was quite odd because most mechs just couldn't pull it off. That and he had finally given up trying to believe that nobody could be worse than Tracks.

"What do you mean we're out of primer?"

Ratchet resisted the urge to smack his servo to his face. "I don't think I stuttered, Sunstreaker. Between you and Tracks, I'm surprised we even have any paint left!"

Whether the CMO noticed the twitch of Sunstreaker's left optic (an instant reaction every time the golden twin heard his rival's name) Wheeljack couldn't say, but he knew one thing for sure by this point. He was extremely glad he had decided to come annoy Ratchet in the medical bay today. It was considered quality entertainment if one got to witness Ratchet interact with the Twins. So far, he had been the longest standing mech (aside from Prime and Prowl) who could put the Twins in their place. Or at least knock them down a peg or two. And right now, Sunstreaker was grinding on the last iota of tolerance Ratchet had for the cycle.

And if the smug air of his stance was anything to go by, Sunstreaker knew it too.

"It's not my fault that this ship is filled with a bunch of incompetent barbarians!" The golden mech growled back.

Now Ratchet's optic twitched. He really had no time for the narcissistic slagger's scratched paint this cycle. It wasn't worth the processor ache. "Sunstreaker get out."

The twin snorted in contempt before leaving. Wheeljack highly suspected that the only reason he did so as quietly as he did was because Jazz was sitting there forebodingly. After scowling a bit after the yellow hellion, the TIC approached both medic and engineer.

"Got yer hands full with dat one, doc." He frowned.

Ratchet imitated Sunstreaker's snort from kliks before and turned around to begin cleaning his already pristine medical bay. "It's not the preeming princess I'm concerned with at the moment."

Jazz looked confused before a large grin replaced the former frown. "Sideswipe hasn't come in today then?"

"I would love to know what you find amusing about all of this." The medic growled sarcastically, indicating that, no, he really didn't care to actually know and that the Special Ops Commander could keep it to himself.

The grin only turned cheeky. "Whatevah ya say, doc."

Jazz had seemed to find this entire situation hilarious. After all, for what the TIC could pull off if in the right mood, these were youngling's play kind of pranks. Didn't mean that Ratchet appreciated them any more than he did those. He could spending his time doing something far more productive than stripping metallic bright pink from his medbay walls! And Ratchet knew that Sunstreaker was no less guilty than his brother.

"You are an annoying fragger." The medic despaired as he finished Jazz's annual scan. He fully ignored the grin that was now plotting, not even sparing it a glare. He would talk to Prowl later. That would keep the sneaky brat from trying anything. "Now get out! And I don't want to see you for anymore 'sparring accidents'!"

Jazz held up his hands placatingly. "Sure, sure Ratch. Cross my spark. I'll send in the next unfortunate victim, eh?"

"Get." Was all he got in way of a reply.

Another chuckle from the saboteur and then the TIC was gone, a cheery tune being hummed as he left. Ratchet sighed audibly, his irritation with the universe in general at an all time high this cycle. And mostly because the daily dose of agitation and misery hadn't made its appearance today. Yet. And it was the yet that had him on edge.

He could only hope that Primus didn't hate him today. That maybe he would get a break. It had been several vorns since the Twins had come aboard the Ark. Several vorns of his life being miserable at every turn. And to think that he used to be the owner of a quiet clinic on the poor side of the planet. Who would've thought?

His attention was pulled away from cleaning the medberth Jazz had just vacated when the door cycled opened and Prowl stepped in looking tense. Well, more so than usual. Which was completely normal when the Praxian SIC had a check up. Nice to see some things were still on a familiar schedule around the madhouse which had become his life.

"Is this really necessary, Ratchet?" Prowl asked stiffly. "I can assure you that I am operating at optimal capacity and require –"

"Sit." Ratchet growled, cutting off the black and white's attempted reassurances. He watched as Prowl sighed almost imperceptibly and made his way to the medberth occupied by Jazz just a few kliks earlier. Normally, if Ratchet had ordered the SIC like that, Prowl could have overridden the order in an astrosecond. As it stood, however, this was an annual check-up and as such, Ratchet outranked his superior for the moment.

The Chief Medical Officer quickly accessed Prowl's systems, and scanned the vital parts of his insides, noting that the left doorwing hinge was a little stiffer than the right. He frowned, remembering how after the last major front with the Decepticons had ended with Prowl on one of his medberths and a missing doorwing.

"It… twinges… from time to time." Prowl said carefully, warily watching the medic's hands, ready to duck should he reach for the conveniently placed wrench.

Not that it mattered when Ratchet forewent the normal wrench to whap Prowl in the back of his helm. "Then you should have fragging well come to seem me!" He snarled, one of the digits on his left servo retracting to be replaced with forceps. He brightened the intensity of his optics, seeing what most mechs couldn't. He snorted, grabbing a cable with the forceps and eliciting a barely contained yelp when he tugged from his patient. He moved the cable back into its proper place before removing his tool and bringing back his finger. "A crossed cable, but its back in place." He gripped the tip of the doorwing, hard enough to be stern, but not hard enough to hurt. "How does it feel now?"

Prowl considered, feeling as Ratchet moved the joint around. "Better." He finally conceded. "Thank you Ratchet."

"Don't thank me just yet. I still need to check your energy levels." The medic growled and he felt the doorwing tense. Uh-huh. That's what he thought. He released the doorwing and popped open the panel that kept records of a Cybertronian's energy readings. "You're running low. Far lower than I set for you last checkup…" Ratchet growled dangerously.

"I've been busy…"

A wrench was the next thing Prowl could recognize as it swung at the back of his helm. It hit with a clang and Prowl grunted, his hands flying to clutch at the new dent. This was shy he hated check-ups.

"Well you better find the fragging time to take care of yourself while you're 'busy'!" Ratchet yelled at his patient. "So now you get to spend the evening with me hooked up to energon lines until your energon levels have raised to levels I deem appropriate!"

Before the Second in Command could argue, he'd pulled out several connectors already connected to energon bags that he'd prepared the cycle before for just such occasions. He turned to Prowl, waving the wrench a little in one servo when Prowl looked like he was about to protest. The black and white's mouth snapped shut and his jaw hardened knowing he had lost this battle. Even though he was the Second in Command of the Autobot army, Ratchet outranked him in moments like these.

So without any further argument and (thankfully) without any further wrench throwing, Ratchet connected his patient to the lines and switched on the energon drip. He turned away to file Prowl's report before sending it off to Optimus and a message that merely said, 'Get your aft down here before I send Ironhide!'

He turned around to start cleaning the next berth over only to be stopped by the sight of the Second in Command and Head Tactician shaking and clutching at his helm. An alarm bell began ringing in his programming and he was by his patient's side in an astrosecond.

"Prowl?" He gripped the Praxian's shoulder armor, trying to get a look at the lowered faceplates. "Prowl, what's wrong. You need to tell me…!"

And then the giggling began… wait… giggling?

Ratchet reeled back in startlement. Prowl never giggled! Huffed, sighed, was stern, but… never giggling.

"Uh… Prowl? Wha - "

And then the most alarming thing happened. Prowl began laughing. Which lasted all of two kliks before the mech sat ramrod still, staring at nothing. Ratchet had barely any time to launch forward and catch the mech before his optics flickered off and he feel to hit the floor, tearing several energon lines free. Unfortunately, not prepared for the sudden weight distribution, Ratchet only broke the fall with his own chassis, now pinned under an unconscious tactician. The loud crash had drawn Jazz back into the medbay, looking like he was ready to fight a 'Con.

When he gathered what had actually happened, he relaxed and a large grin broke across his features, masking the worry still there. "Hey Doc. I thought there were rules against molestin' yer patients."

"Quiet! Help me get him back on the berth." Ratchet snapped, more worried about checking Prowl than any joke Jazz had on hand.

Luckily, Jazz didn't crack another one as he moved to heft Prowl into his arms and deposit him on the berth. "Wha' happened?"

"I'm finding out." Ratchet muttered, ignoring the saboteur for the most part, running scans across Prowl's chassis. The results were… confusing. "Prowl's BC has shut off. He's crashed."

"Primus! What'd you say to him, docbot?" Jazz's grin was far truer this time around, worry turning to relief. A crash, Ratchet knew how to deal with.

"That's just it… I didn't say anything it should have registered as illogical." Ratchet mumbled, settling into a familiar rhythm as he reconnected and replaced circuits in Prowl's helm that accompanied a crash.

Jazz was about to make a crack about how Ratchet was illogical to begin with when his ol factory sensors caught whiff of something that seemed out of place in the pristine medical bay. He frowned. "Hey, Ratch, you 'avn't been drinking 'ave you?"

Ratchet snorted. "No, Jazz, I never do on duty."

"Oh…" Jazz's frown deepened. "Then why do I smell highgrade?"

Ratchet paused in his work, his optics snapping up to the TIC's visor in surprise. As the quiet moments passed, something dawned on the CMO. Highgrade. Prowl didn't drink. The highgrade and Battle Computer installed in the Second in Command didn't do well together. Prowl had been cajoled into drinking one cube once with Jazz. And the result had ended in a crash.

With that realization, Ratchet's gaze turned to the still dripping energon tubes that Prowl's fall had torn free. Slowly, as if he were in some holovid being set to play slow motion, Ratchet reached for one tube and swiped his finger across the open end before putting the finger in his mouth. Highgrade.

The consequent roar of fury that followed left Jazz's sensitive audios ringing for joors afterward.

"SIDESWIIIIIIIIIIIPE!"


	5. Noble Mechs Are Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my! What's this! A new update! w00t! So much later than I had planned to update, but everyone wanted to see some kind of punishment for the Twins. Originally I was gonna skip it, because I honestly am very bad at thinking up SUITABLE punishments. Still not a good punishment scene, but at lease you all get to know what happened in retaliation. Taht and then I had writer's block for awhile, which allowed me to get some other projects done. But I hope this chapter is worth the wait!
> 
> Warnings: Mild Sexual Assault
> 
> Disclaimer. Not mine, but oh if only... Soundscape and any other OC's are mine.
> 
> A/N: The Twins have such a noble sense of right and wrong, lol. A little hint of some Jazz/Prowl in here if you squint REALLY hard! XD And for all you fan girls out there, there's a little surprise for you in this chapter concerning Sideswipe and Ratchet... Read on!
> 
> Enjoy!

Sideswipe learned very quickly that getting the medic protective of his patients was a very bad thing to do. And he also learned that the medic was creative when it came to revenge. He remembered having to face Jazz after the thing with Prowl and frag if that hadn't been scary! Once the Special Ops commander had pretty much gotten a guarantee that Sideswipe would NEVER touch the (important) medical tools again, Jazz had darkly yet cheerily informed him to watch his back next time he decided that he wanted to do something dangerous.

Sideswipe had inwardly vowed never to make the saboteur angry again. Frag, that was only angry, he didn't want to know what it would be like if he were fragged off. Sunstreaker had sent his sparkfelt agreement over their bond moments after Jazz had left.

Now though… Now they were facing punishment detail. Note: they. And now Sunstreaker was mad at him too. Not that his brother being angry at him was anything new or uncommon. Sideswipe just would rather not have to deal with his glitching since they were now cleaning the medbay top to bottom including buffing the walls to a blinding new sheen. With Jazz watching to make sure they actually did it. That was the only way Ratchet had agreed to letting them in the medbay without injuries after the high grade spectacle. The medbot wasn't even talking to them at the moment. Which suited Sunstreaker just fine, but for some odd reason, it tugged at Sideswipe's tanks. He got the awful feeling that he was actually starting to respect this medic. He must have knocked a few bolts loose in his processor.

Well, he had lasted longer than any others before demanding they be transferred, telling them to fend for themselves or transferring himself. So the red devil supposed that counted for something. Even if it was a small something.

And frag did that hurt to admit.

"Alright, you two. Yer done." Jazz called from his position by the door. Ratchet had retreated into his office some time ago, although they suspected he wasn't in there anymore. They had yet to figure out how the frag the medic disappeared like that when there was only one way in.

Sideswipe looked up, not even realizing that he had just finished his section, so lost in his thoughts of revenge and pushing away unwanted feelings. "Huh?" He replied brilliantly.

A cloth slick with buffing polish whapped him in the face, some splattering into his open mouth. He sputtered, both in surprise and from the absolutely bland taste of the polish on his glossa. "What the Pit Sunny!"

"He said we're going." Sunstreaker huffed, examining his own paint. His shiny paintjob at that. If Sideswipe knew his brother (and he was pretty fragging sure he did, they were BOND TWINS for Primus' sake) then Sunstreaker had taken advantage of the extra polish and had gone and polished himself as well. He had finished long before Sideswipe. Most likely due to the fact that Sideswipe was constantly getting sidetracked and distracted. Oh well.

"I heard him, fragger." Sideswipe mumbled, his brother's back already retreating. Sideswipe dropped his brother's rag into the bucket with his before going to stand. He groaned his arms tired and heavy and he really couldn't wait to get to the wash wracks and get some of this smell off. Really, he could never understand why Sunstreaker enjoyed smelling like polish was beyond him. He happily ignored that his Twin's polish was in fact a different scent all together.

Sideswipe stalked from the medbay, dropping of the supplies in the supply closet, not bothering to clean them. He was more concerned on getting back to his quarters for a stasis nap. After all, the Officers had cheerfully chosen his day off to administer his punishment. Not that it really matter in the long run. He didn't have anything to do today anyways. Except he had been hoping to seduce some bot into his berth for a quick frag. Apparently, not going to happen.

With a grateful sigh, Sideswipe flopped onto his berth, the door sliding shut behind him and locking automatically. He entertained the notion of thinking up suitable revenge for a moment before putting the subroutine on standby in his memory cache in favor of recharge.

Sunstreaker stalked the halls leading to the sparring rooms. He had a lot of excess anger to work off, at his brother, the medic, Prowl, Prime… Frag the entire ship could go to the Pit for all he cared at this point! His arms were sore, his pride was hurting and his paintjob had been through abuse today. Arrogant fraggers, all of them!

:: Shut it, Sunbeam! Trying to 'charge! :: Sideswipe's irritated pulse along with his thoughts had Sunstreaker's optic twitching at the corner.

:: The frag do I care! :: Sunstreaker snarled back, suppressing the urge to growl out loud. :: It's your own fault, slagger! ::

He ignored the curious look he received from Ironhide as he slammed his servo down on the keypad, the abused lock sparking once before the door slid open slowly. He saw Ironhide shake his helm and mutter something about irritable younglings before he stormed through, not caring much for the old glitch's mumblings.

Inordinately pleased to find that the sparring room was empty, Sunstreaker was quick to set up one of the sparring drones (or five) and whale on them. Each crunch of his fist into practice plating sent a satisfying rush to his CPU as he imagined each face he wanted to smash in, mainly his brother's and the pit forsaken medic at the moment. He hadn't even had anything to do with that frelling prank! So why the frag did HE get punished!

Life wasn't fair. That's why.

Joors passed in which Sunstreaker thoroughly demolished every drone he could get his servos on. It had helped a lot to work off the frustration and anger, but now he was bored and irritated. Which happened a lot around here. Well fine. He could deal with this. Kind of.

After checking over his polished finish for any scratches and coming to the satisfying conclusion that he was as pristine as ever, the golden warrior stalked from the training rooms, passing Cliffjumper (annoying little fragger glared at him, which he was kind enough to return) and Bumblebee, who wave cheerily at him. No point in acknowledging that. He didn't have much of a problem with the small yellow minibot, but neither did he hold any great like for him. As a general rule, he didn't like minibots in general.

He turned the corner just as both minibots entered the training room and he heard 'What the FRAG!' From Cliffjumper before he was out of range. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, tired amusement now coloring the bond. So Sideswipe had been paying attention then.

A high pitched whine filled the hallways suddenly, the intercom switching on and apparently still suffering from the electrical surge Sideswipe had caused orns ago and Red Alert's voice floated from the speakers. "All Autobots not on duty report to the landing station for Recruit Arrivals. Repeat, all Autobots to landing station for new arrival." There was a pause in which doors opened and many grumbling and sleepy mechs wandered from their quarters and off duty activities. Then Red Alert's voice continued, "And Sideswipe, do anything and I'll deal with you personally." The intercom shut off among peals of laughter and mumblings.

Well, frag. There went his off duty plans.

"Aw, mech!" Sideswipe whined, slumping at the table he and Sunstreaker had commandeered from a handful of the newbies on base. It had been several cycles now, since they had arrived and many were already putting in for transefers. Hey! It wasn't easy being a part of the Ark crew! Especially with frontliners like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Or officers like Prowl, Ratchet, Red Alert and Ironhide. Pit, Ratchet alone had many of the lesser sparks quivering every time he walked into a room. Not that Sideswipe really blamed them. If he was as weak-sparked as so many of the new guys, he would have shrunk in fear as well. Ratchet was a scary mech after all. At least, when he was in a good mood.

"Hmm…?" Sunstreaker inquired, focused more on the datapad in his hand than what was going on around him. Sideswipe knew his brother wasn't one for much reading, but the small glimpse of '10 Tips to Make Your Armor Shine' pretty much guaranteed that thing would find a place on the sparse shelves in their quarters.

"That Towers mech is at it again."

Sunstreaker did glance up then, but only to shoot a disdainful look at the deep purple chassis of slag standing across the room and chatting with a group of his own kind. His name was Soundscape and frag if the slagger wasn't as annoying as pit the way he bat his optic shutters and just expected anybot to jump into the berth with him. Fragger had already attempted it on both Twins, and he didn't really take well to rejection.

At least he wasn't the psychopathic type, from what they could tell.

Lately though, they'd been catching snippets of gossip about the way the mech had a thing for mechs with 'dexterous' servos. Basically, medics. On top of a few rumors that not all of the Tower brat's lovers were the same after a few days with him. Of course, having heard it worded like that, they really couldn't tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing. They weren't even sure they wanted to know.

And unsurprisingly enough, Soundscape had zeroed in on the top kahuna of the medical lot on board, Ratchet.

So therefore, whenever the medic found the time to wander into the recreation room (note: when he actually took days off) the CMO suddenly seemed to have a posse of Towers Brats following him around. Sunstreaker didn't know why, but he found extreme satisfaction in noting that the was so obviously annoyed by it. He chalked it up to him disliking Towerlings more than medics. Which wasn't that hard if he were honest with himself.

"So?" He grunted after Sideswipe continued to grumble.

"They're just… all over him. Disgusting."

"Again, I say, so?"

"It's just… I mean…" Sideswipe chewed on his glossa, fighting for the right words. "I work my aft off to frag Hatchet off all the slagging time and all this guy needs to do is talk to him! That's so fragging unfair!"

So it was a territorial/pride thing. Especially considering Ratchet still wasn't even speaking to them. Wouldn't even scream. And for some reason the reminder was putting Sunstreaker in a bad mood, although he wasn't quite sure why. After all, he didn't have Cliffjumper the mini-dolt screaming in his audios today.

Both brothers (actually every mech in the room) turned their helms when Ratchet suddenly slammed his fists on the table he had been sitting at with Wheeljack and stood, giving his coldest glare to the Towers mech who moments before had been leaning on him.

"Not interested." He hissed into the quiet of the rec room before shoving past the small group of Towers mechs that followed Soundscape around and out the rec room door.

Almost immediately many hoots and whistles came from the gathered soldiers as they teased the Towers mech about his charms not working on the Hatchet and that he needed to find a new hobby. Or a new and easier catch. The look of absolute haughty dignity was replaced with a cold calculating frown as the Soundscape stalked from the room, motioning that his followers should just go about their own business.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker looked at each other, both broadcasting across their bond before standing and leaving as well. They had better things to do than to hang out with these losers.

Ratchet had never been so aggravated in his entire lifecycle! Well, okay, not quite true, since Sideswipe did his Pit best everyday, but regardless, the medic was feeling pretty fragged off at the moment. Seriously! What was it with the Towers mechs and thinking they were gifts from Primus and every mech on Cybertron should just fall at their pedes and worship them! What had started out as a good recruitment effort for many of the officers and a pick up for morale was beginning to turn into one Pit of a processor ache for Ratchet.

Why couldn't life be as fragging simple as, no meant no and angry meant 'Get the Slag outta my way!'

Oh wait. That's right. Primus liked to make a joke out of his life.

Ratchet groaned in aggravation and leaned against the wall. The corridor leading to the medbay was blessedly quiet, most troops on duty or spending their off hours in the recreation room or their quarters. Yay for the small miracles. What he really wanted to do was walk right back into his territory and take over, let his mechs rest and what not.

But no, Prime, Prowl, Jazz,Ironhide, and Wheeljack had all decided that what their dear CMO really needed was a day off. It would have been a week if Ratchet hadn't put up the resistance he did. So now here he was, with nothing to do with himself and a building CPU ache.

Well, maybe he should just head back to his quarters and drink. He knew he had some of Wheeljack's brewed stuff under his berth somewhere. It would definitely take his mind off things. Actually, that sounded kind of nice. Time to himself with no interru —

"Oh my." A smooth, cultured voice came from his left, along with the smell of expensive wax, leaving no doubt in Ratchet's processor about who had come looking for him. "You're not looking to well, Ratchet. Did something happen?"

Frag.

Ratchet turned to regard the Towers mech coolly, watching as Soundscape sauntered towards him with a regal gait that honestly made the sharp angles of his hips look that much more ridiculous. The mech was larger than the CMO, larger than most Twoer mechs in actuality. His faceplates were good looking, but (even though he would never admit it aloud) the Twins were far better lookers. The crest on his red crystal adorned helm was bright lavender that offset the deep purple of his broad chassis. What others saw as tantalizing, Ratchet just thought a multicolored mess.

"Nothing happened." He replied, tone bland. "Looking for a few moments to myself." He stood from his slump, standing to his full height, which didn't really help in height comparison, but the CMO was a practiced master at looking taller and more intimidating than he was. "Not interested in some of the company around here."

That was a blatant clue. One that seemed to hold no weight to the mech obviously used to getting what he wanted. "I'll have to say I agree." Soundscape purred, standing far too close for comfort. "There is more… preferable company than many of the barbarians here."

What part of not interested didn't this guy understand! "Soundscape. I. Have. No. Interest. Find somebot else to be your berth warmer. I don't entertain brats."

Ratchet had never seen anybot move so fast. He didn't have time to do more than grunt in pain as his back was slammed against the wall, the back of his helm bouncing painfully off of it and disorienting him for a few moments. When he could see straight he had a very angry, very prideful Towers mech in his faceplates. Soundscape had seized his wrists and was pressing them above his head in one servo, surprisingly strong for how slight his frame was. The other servo was grasping at a thigh, jerking it up and over his pelvic span.

"You… fragger!" Ratchet snarled, trying to twist out of the tight grasp. "Let go!"

Soundscape's weight pushed forward, pinning him in place. The voice that whispered in his audio was cold. "You need to learn your place, medic! You're low on the food chain. Consider yourself lucky I even deign to take notice of you!"

Lips slammed over his own, a glossa pushing forcefully into his mouth, making him gag. Ratchet felt the hand grope further down, reaching for his interface panel. He was about to scream in outrage, spew every curse he knew at the fragger, but it looked like someone had beaten him to it.

The weight was suddenly gone, a pained howl echoing down the corridor as Soundscape slammed against the opposite wall. Ratchet's own weight was being supported against a crimson red side, a black servo tight on his shoulder. In front of him, a golden frame was standing tall and menacing, servos clenching and unclenching in what was obvious anger. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Ratchet's felt like he was suddenly Prowl about to have a CPU crash.

"You!" The noble mech screeched, pushing off from the wall. "How dare you cretins! He's mine!"

"Is he now?" Ratchet couldn't suppress the shiver of cold fear that shot down his backstrut at the menacing cold of Sideswipe's voice right above his helm. "Because I believe we had dibs first."

Ratchet would have stared at the red twin with all the incredulity he could muster, but the iron grip that kept him welded to the red twin's side didn't leave much moving room.

The look that the noble shot at Sideswipe was full of such disbelief that it even radiated from his frame. "Really? What could either of you brutes possibly have to offer him!"

Sunstreaker growled in warning, but Sideswipe practically radiated with a smug sense of victory. In a moment of surprise, Ratchet felt his helm jerked up by digits clasping his chin before another pair of lips closed on his, mouthing somewhat gently against his stunned ones. Ratchet could only thank his lucky stars that Sideswipe hadn't used his glossa. He wasn't sure what he would have done then.

"Get out of here." The hellion hissed as soon as he had broken the kiss, a dazed Ratchet just staring at him as if he had grown a second helm.

Soundscape stared at Sideswipe, unconcealed rage written all over his faceplates before he turned and stomped as gracefully as he could down the hallway.

As soon as he turned the corner, Sideswipe made a gagging sound and pushed the medic to the side. Not expecting the sudden move, Ratchet stumbled a few steps before he caught himself. "Oh frag, you so owe me for that one, medic!" The red twin made another gagging noise, wiping at his mouthplates as if trying to erase what had happened from his metal skin.

Ratchet, on the other servo, was now praying to Primus for the whole incident to just have been wiped from his databanks. "Owe you! I could have handled that myself!"

"Yeah because you were doing so well until we came along." Sunstreaker snorted, looking at the impressive dent that Soundscape had made in the wall when he had thrown him.

Ratchet scowled. "I am not helpless."

"Whatever." Sideswipe grunted, grabbing the CMO's upper arm while Sunstreaker did the same to the other, both preceding to drag the cursing doctor down the hall.

Neither relinquished their grip as they pulled Ratchet alongside them, not until they were standing outside the medbay. Sunstreaker pulled Ratchet closer, leaning in to speak into his audio. "Just so you don't get the wrong idea, we didn't help you because we like you."

"We did it because we like him even less." Sideswipe continued., palming the entry pad. "And what he was doing was just wrong."

Without any further explanations, both twins placed a servo on the CMO's shoulders and shoved him through the doors as they opened, before walking away. The doors cycles shut behind Ratchet, leaving him staring at the door with a bemused expression on his face.

"Uh, sir?" The white and red mech turned to regard a trainee that was now looking at him with curiosity. "Isn't today supposed to be your day off?"

Ratchet turned his gaze back to the door once more, before sighing. "I'll be in my office."

But first, he really needed to wash his mouth out with oil.


	6. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back! Back again! Yeah, me. That's who. Whew this chapter was a doozy! School just started up again, but I in no way plan to let that hold me back! This is probably my longest chapter! Nine pages on my comp! w00t! I really like this chapter. ALOT. Especially the ending. Not sure if I made Sunny a little OOC or not, but if it seems that I did, I apologize in advance.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine!
> 
> A/N!: So, I am craving art. If anyone wants to do art for this I would be eternally grateful! For like... EVER! LOL

It had been two orns. Two. Fragging. ORNS! Ratchet was seriously getting tired of his personal shadows. He was on edge and he knew it. Oh, the pranking sure as frag didn't stop and that was wearing on his every nerve diode as well. Especially since they were getting far more dangerous. Just yesterday he had walked out of his medbay and he was positive that if he hadn't stopped just in the frame of the door to turn back and address his assistant, Overscore, then the bucket of tools would have landed on his helm. That would have hurt. A lot. Not to mention that they were tools he had been missing for several orns. Sideswipe had been entirely unrepentant, although he took his brig time without hardly any fuss.

And that was another thing. Neither Sunstreaker nor Sideswipe was ever in the brig at the same time anymore. And if they were they really did kick up a fuss. A loud one at that. It just didn't make sense to Ratchet at all. Especially since when one twin was locked in, the other was either shadowing the medic or was at least close by.

As if the two of them weren't bad enough, however, it seemed that Soundscape had made it his personal mission to publicly mock the CMO whenever there was a bot around who would listen. Which were mostly the new recruits, many of the senior staff and those who had been here awhile ignoring his angry tirades completely. Ratchet was almost out of his admittedly short reserve of patience.

"Your optic is twitching." Ratchet didn't even turn to look at the red twin, who was currently sitting on a berth with a busted knee servo. How it had happened was remaining vague, all the frontliner supplying by way as explanation that he had an 'accident'.

Which normally meant he had either gotten into a fight with his brother or had been in a sparring match without bothering to be careful.

"Seriously. Your optic is really twitching out. Did you refuel today?"

Ratchet turned to regard the red hellion. "Yes Sideswipe. I did. No, I will not go get more energon. Why? Because you have most likely put something in the dispenser or rigged it to spray me, or blow up. Nice try. Get out."

"But doo~ooc!" Sideswipe whined. "My knee!"

"Is fine now. You know the rules. You're most likely going to break them anyways. So get out."

Sideswipe looked like he was about to argue, or come up with another excuse to stay when the open comm. went off.

:- Sideswipe, you have exactly two kliks tah get yer sorry red aft up here, or ah'm coming for you mahself!-: Ironhide did not sound happy.

Ratchet gave the prankster a look. Sideswipe ignored it and glanced around the empty medbay, almost looking worried. Probably because he was watching to see if maybe Ironhide was already in the medical bay ready to tear him a new exhaust port. Ratchet growled.

"Go, Sideswipe."

The frontline warrior gave him an irritated look before shrugging and striding to the doors. He reached them just as they cycled open, glancing once more at the empty room, his optics staring at Ratchet hard for a moment. The good doctor was already ignoring him, cleaning his supplies at one of the back sinks. Checking to see if the halls were clear, Sideswipe sent a quiet message to his brother and left.

It was quiet, for once. No Sideswipe annoying him with his constant tirade of useless fact or his highly immature pranks. No Sunstreaker grumbling to himself as he polished his armor to an even brighter sheen than the polishing he'd given himself only moments before. No optics tracking his every move, glancing at the medbay doors, growling at every patient that walked through them… just quiet. A rarity to be enjoyed.

So why was he feeling so on edge?

Ratchet couldn't stop the shiver that raveled down the length of his spinal strut. He didn't like this. This was really odd because he had just been hoping for a reason that neither twin would be hovering just behind his shoulder. Sunstreaker was on duty and Sideswipe had just been called away, in trouble because of who knew what… The sound of the door cycling open caught his attention and Ratchet turned, customary scowl in place.

He nearly dropped his tools with the surge of fury mixed with slight fear that flowed through his lines.

"Look! I'm telling you it wasn't me!" Sideswipe huffed, his arms crossed firmly across his chassis. "Not this time!"

Ironhide looked thoroughly unimpressed. "Kid, yah have about five kliks to make me believe this har prank wasn't yahrs."

Sideswipe looked around the absolutely demolished weapons room. If Hatchet was the total picture of a pristine medbay, than Ironhide was his counterpart when it came to the weapons room. The weapons were always categorized by model, size and the punch it packed. The cleaning supplies were never far from the weapons wrack, and there were always the parts that could be spared for maintenance.

Now, however, the entire room was turned upside down. The practice weapons were covered in a bright green paint, locks jammed with the drying goo. Many of the parts for maintenance were scattered all along the floor, while many of the actual weapons were uncategorized or laying willy-nilly on the benches. And Sideswipe was thoroughly insulted that he would have been accused of such a childish prank. Really. He was FAR smoother than this.

Oh, and it was pretty dangerous too. Couldn't forget that. Not even Sideswipe was stupid enough to risk a weapon that may be used in battle.

"Okay, first of all, whoever did this must have bolts for a CPU because this was way too obvious to gain any form of satisfaction from. Seriously? Green paint? It would have looked far better in bright neon pink. I agree this place needs more color, but that's the wrong choice. Second, how the frag could I have done this before this cycle? I was on duty! You know, up in communications with Blaster as punishment for the magnetized berth we put in Hatchet's medbay that he was stuck to for the better part of last orn?"

That gave Ironhide pause and the dark, tear-you-limb-from-limb look faltered.

"Ask Red, if you don't believe me." Sideswipe muttered.

"Ah think ah will…" Ironhide muttered, clicking on his comm. "Hey, Red? I got a question for ya…"

Sideswipe ignored the conversation, still looking around. It was obvious that this prank was meant to get him into trouble. Why though, he couldn't figure out. He was pretty good at fragging mechs off, sure, but he was just as good at getting back into their good graces.

"Alright, kid. Yahr good to go." Ironhide growled, obviously embarrassed at having made the wrong conclusion.

Sideswipe shrugged. He's find out who did it later. For now, he needed to get back to the medical bay. No telling where that noble fragger would strike next. True, he wasn't big on the medic, but he would be the first to admit that he was far more preferred than any noble mech. And the idea of forced affections or just forced anything didn't sit well with his tanks. No matter who was on the receiving end… well… maybe not a Decepticon.

His thoughts were interrupted somewhere halfway between his destination and the weapons room when he felt his brother's angry prod over their bond. :: Get your aft back to the medbay, Sideswipe! NOW!::

The image that accompanied the words was enough to have Sideswipe bolting down the hall.

Ratchet stood silently, his grip around his wrench tight enough it would have dented metal had he been holding onto someone's servo. He wasn't scared. Maybe a little bit, but this wasn't the first time he'd ever had to deal with his type of mech.

"What the frag do you want, Soundscape?" He growled, thankfully sounding more intimidating than he felt at the moment.

The dark purple noble shrugged nonchalantly, his servos clasped behind his back, his expression feigning bored and haughty all at once. In Ratchet's opinion it made the mech look extremely unattractive. Not that Ratchet was the least bit attracted to him to begin with, but the mech was aesthetically pleasing. And nothing else. Unfortunately, even the least bit of attention registered at interest to the brat. Soundscape seemed perfectly at ease, glancing around the medbay. The extremely empty medbay which had only seemed so pleasing mere kliks ago.

"Do I really need a reason to come and visit you, doctor? Other than I may be injured."

"What do you think after last metacycle (week)?"

"That was…" A lazy wave of the wrist. "An unfortunate time. You see, I wasn't quite in my right frame of mind and I assumed that with all the … rejections… I was receiving was simply you playing hard to get." A coy smile lit his features, further cementing the unattractiveness of it all.

Ratchet snorted. "And I suppose that my telling you outright that I was not interested was 'playing hard to get' as well?" It didn't escape his notice that the Towers mech was making his way closer. Ratchet moved to put a berth between them.

The coy smile faltered, a flash of barely there anger here and gone again in the gold optics. "Yes, well, I merely believed that you were embarrassed. Or in disbelief that I would return your… affections."

"What affections?" Ratchet grumbled, the question completely rhetorical.

Soundscape was now standing on the exact opposite side of the berth, still out of reaching range. Ratchet refused to back up any further. He may be a medic, but he was no coward. The noble mech was staring intently into the shiny surface of the berth, no doubt enjoying his reflection.

"So?" Ratchet began, working on any excuse to get the mech out of the medbay and away from him.

Soundscape looked up curiously. "So?"

"What are you in here for? You don't seem injured."

"Oh, well, it's not much…"

Ratchet frowned. "Get on with it, Soundscape. I don't have all slagging cycle!" He growled, trying to keep things business. "Let me guess. Strained cables? Chipped paint? Bad defrag dump? Achy plating…"

The wicked smile forming across the taller mech's faceplates was disturbing and Ratchet trailed off, staring warily at the noble.

"Oh…" Soundscape purred. "I ache." And lightening quick, he was lurching across the berth, grabbing a startled Ratchet and yanking him roughly to pin him to the berth he had been attempting to use as a barricade between them. "I ache for you…"

"You…!" Ratchet immediately began to struggle, his entire frame twisting even as Soundscape crawled atop him to pin him down with his superior mass. "You triple-defunct, crank-shafted, motherboard, scrap yard REJECT! Get off of me!"

"Pretty impressive vocabulary." Soundscape grunted although he looked far from impressed. "But I don't think you get it. When I want something," Ratchet yelped in slight pain and anger when the noble ground his digits into Ratchet's palms to pin them more firmly. "I get it."

"I don't think you get it." A very familiar, very angry voice said from off to their right, and although Ratchet would never admit to another spark, he felt a surge of relief as the constricting weight was hauled off of him and revealed a furious Sideswipe with a dangling Soundscape in his grip. "When I say hands off!" The last part was practically snarled.

Sideswipe shoved the other mech away, taking immense satisfaction out of the undignified squeak that left the fragger's vocalizer. In the same movement, he reached out at bodily removed the CMO from the berth (also immensely satisfied with the undignified yelp) and placed him behind him. If anybot, anybot, got to antagonize the docbot is was Sunstreaker and him! Sideswipe made to advance, cracking the joints in his servos forebodingly.

Soundscape backed away a little, his faceplates terrified although he seemed to be stubbornly holding onto his pride. "You wouldn't dar-"

"Try. Me."

As it turned out, luck was on the nobles side, if only this once. The alarms blared, drowning out the horrified whine that had escaped Soundscape's mouth.

:- The Decepticons are attacking! All Autobots to their stations IMMEDIATELY! This is not a drill! I repeat – NOT A DRILL!-:

They had both seen it happen. Even if they didn't give a flying frag one way or another, the fact remained that it had happened.

The Decepticons had decided to stop playing turbofox and had even acquired the ball bearings to attack the Ark while it had been docked in what was left of the ship yards in Iacon for repairs. Nobody quite knew just how so many Decepticons made it through their first defenses on the outer edges of the dockyard, but they had. For whatever reason, first step warning sensors had not been tripped, but they thanked their lucky stars that the second ones had. It had given them just enough time to at least formulate some form of immediate defense.

Both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been near the doors of one of the lookout shelters when Sideswipe had felt the pleased vindication from his brother. He remembered turning his helm to look, and he remembered answering Sunstreaker's satisfaction with a wave of his own. Even if Soundscape was already being pulled to safety after taking a direct shot to his spark. It wasn't long after that before the Decepticons were calling a 'strategical retreat'. Meaning they hadn't been prepared for the aft whooping they were handed. Not that the Autobots had come out unscathed either. Currently, the Twins were sitting in a packed and noisy medbay, monitors flatlining or beeping okays, medics and medic aides shouting at each other, wounded soldiers crying out in pain… Sideswipe ahd gotten lucky and had made out with only superficial damage though it was far from comfortable. Sunstreaker was slightly less lucky, his arm having been torn off by an overzealous 'Con. Sideswipe had to admit though that it was comical to see his brother merely rip his arm back and use it as a bludgeon to beat the 'Con's helm in.

Even so, they were both far from happy. Two berths away, Ratchet was frantically trying to keep the dying Soundscape from offlining. He was shouting instructions over the din, using every tool Sideswipe had ever hidden and more.

It didn't even make sense!

The noble glitch had assaulted the medical officer twice. Would have gone father than merely pawing at plating if the Twins hadn't come along and saved his sorry aft.

And he was trying to save him?

Sideswipe was fuming. Sunstreaker was furious. Fine! See if they ever tried to help him again! The stupid half-clocked medic could take care of himself next time. He seemed to like doing that anyway.

"No, no, no, NO!"

The sudden shout was accompanied by the long low beep of a monitor that had flat lined. There were a few frantic moments in which the medics rushed back and forth, doing their best to bring the monitor back to life. It was in vain. After a few moments of trying, of curses and pleas, that area of the medbay fell silent. Or as silent as it could be with the other noises in the medbay. Without another word, Ratchet motioned that the graying frame be lifted from the medberth, making room for the next invalid in need of repairs.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe watched with little interest as the frame was hauled from the berth and carted away. Ratchet passed by them and Sunstreaker was about to retort something nasty, still quite fragged over the entire situation, when he caught sight of the absolutely blank look in the medic's optics. He shut his mouth and turned away, not quite sure why he suddenly felt like he would rather be outside with his arm being torn off again than be in here and face that look. Beside him, Sideswipe couldn't agree more.

It was late in the cycle. The worst was over, the injured all in quarters or in the medbay respectively. Which was why Sunstreaker was currently dragging his brother through the empty halls and to the washwracks. It was the perfect time to hit the shower and bring his scratched and faded frame back into pristine condition. And he had pretty much dragged Sideswipe with him for the hard to reach places. Not to mention he was tired of his counterpart and his less than abysmal self hygiene.

And with the wracks empty, it was the perfect time.

Sunstreaker halted with a scowl, the sound of water hitting tile reaching his audios. Well, frag. Now he had to share. That was just fan-fragging-tastic. Not. Still, he wasn't about to go another joor without his paint fixed and his armor waxed to a shine. Company or no.

If they were smart they would leave. Sideswipe seemed to hear the water too and he smirked. Maybe he might be able to make something of this crappy orn! Somebot was due a prank.

Or that was what they had been thinking. Up until they actually stepped in, Sideswipe with his normal 'I'm-up-to-something' grin and Sunstreaker with a haughty sneer. The sight of the CMO curled up in the fetal position, planes of his knees digging into his faceplates and arms curled around his shins, sitting under the one running faucet, was enough to give anybot pause.

The Twins exchanged looks of alarm, and stood in the door awkwardly. What did they do in a situation like this? Was it normal for the Chief Medical Officer to be curled up like a sparkling in the washwracks this late in the cycle?

Neither of them was sure what to do. Which was why Sideswipe's voice was not shaking when he asked, "Ratchet?"

The medic started, his helm flying from where it had been buried against his knees, optics cycled wide in alarm and open distress. And Sideswipe couldn't tell with the solvent running over the medic's frame, but he could have sworn that he could see the evidence that Ratchet had been crying!

What the frag?

"The pit's wrong with you?" Sunstreaker snorted, obviously still nonplussed with the aftermath of the battle.

Ratchet flinched, his optics refocusing on his knees, not answering. Sunstreaker frowned, Sideswipe tilted his head in curiosity. That was… not the reaction either had been expecting. Screaming and yelling, sure. Maybe a cleanser bottle or two thrown at their helms. This was slightly... disconcerting.

"Ratch?" Sideswipe reached out, not sure if maybe he should touch or bolt the other way and look for somebot who might know what the slag was going on. "do you want me to get Overscore? Maybe Patch…"

"I couldn't do anything."

Sunstreaker's optic ridges went up. "Excuse me?"

The medic was now staring at his hands, which were being held in air, palms facing their owner. Sideswipe could now see by the solvent that was being shaken off the very tips that the medic was trembling. "I couldn't do anything." He repeated, quieter.

"What are you on about?" Sunstreaker demanded, never quite having mastered basic social awareness.

However Ratchet carried on, as if never having heard him, still staring at his servos numbly. "He was right there. There were so many things going wrong, too many things I should have been able to stop." The trembling in his servos had turned into full body tremors, his vocalizer hitching over every other word. "I tried. I tried, I really did, but…" The wail that erupted from the medic had both frontliners stumbling backwards in alarm.

Yet, even as the panic set in, even as the complete wrongness of the sight of the proud CMO crushing his servos against his face burned itself into their memory banks, a completely alien feeling wrapped itself around the Twins' sparks.

Understanding. Ratchet did try. He tried his pit hardest with everything he had to keep the occupants of the Ark healthy and in repairs. It didn't matter that they wronged him, pranked him, yelled at him, insulted him, feared him… He still didn't stop caring. Even over pit-fragged motherboard glitches like Soundscape. Because that's just who Ratchet was.

Slowly, almost unwilling to believe he was even doing it, Sideswipe knelt in front of the distressed mech, onyx servos closing over cherry ones and gently, but firmly, pulling them away. "There was nothing you could do Ratchet." He said softly.

Sunstreaker, for his part, had sat down beside the mech curled in the corner. When Ratchet tried to yank his servos out of his brother's grip, his own golden ones curled awkwardly around the red-crossed shoulders and pulled the smaller mech against his side. His brother glanced at him in shock, but he refused to look at him, instead focusing on the silent sobs that wracked the smaller frame.

Because if he was honest with himself, he cared. Even if only for the stability he got from having the ornery mech in his life. And he could at least do this much. He ignored the indulgent smile that was spreading across his brother's face as the crimson mech settled himself on Ratchet's other side, pressing the red and white mech between them.

Neither ever spoke of what happened that cycle to anybot. Afterall, it was Ratchet's own piece of the war. One that nobot needed to know about.


	7. Changes For Better or For Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow! And Update already! Well, sudden inspiration hit me this week and since this is SO much more important to me than school work, you get the result of me tyoing my ass off for three days straight XD Not as long as the last one, but it comes pretty damned close. And I like this one too.
> 
> A few things - Well, you all wanted Ratchet pranking Sideswipe back. You got it! Funny enough, I think Ratchet's revenge pranks are more creative than Sideswipe's to begin with. How'd that happen -_-
> 
> Second, I got a few mentions about why Ratchet never reported Soundscape in the last chapter, and I just wanted to address it because Ratchet is my favorite TF and so I will defend his honor! Really, there was no other reason than if I had done that, then the end of the last chapter wouldn't have been as powerful as I wanted it to be. So it's just me ignoring the obvious and controlling the character to do my whims.
> 
> Disclaimer: NOT mine!
> 
> And without further ado, enjoy the crazy that is Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Ratchet's budding relationship XD And we get some Prime Time in this chapter too!

Ratchet stood in the open doors of his medical bay, staring at the newest addition to the room. He tilted his helm one way, and then the other, trying very hard what to make of the… wall decoration he had acquired in his off duty cycle that he had been forced to take after the last battle. He had been trying to push the thoughts of the aftermath of that orn out of his processors for the good part of two metacycles, and this helped. A lot.

"Are you just going to stand there?" The good doctor honestly couldn't decide if he was amused, annoyed or just dreaming. Overscore, in all his orange and green glory, was adhered to the wall just off to the right of the door way, upside down and giving an entirely new meaning to the saying 'if looks could kill.'

Another voice spoke before Ratchet had gotten entirely over his shock. "When'd we get the wall art?"

Ratchet's gaze swung around to look into the amused faceplates of his partner, Patch. Which wasn't necessarily odd, despite the fact that they did not have the duty cycle together this orn and unlike Ratchet, Patch actually took the time he was supposed to off. The hand resting on his shoulder, as if it were the most comfortable rest in the world spoke volumes between the two medics. Patch had been worried over Ratchet's welfare, Ratchet was grateful for the worry.

"Ask the glitched out red hellion you're so fond of, Patch!" Overscore spat, his pastel blue optics flaring in repressed fury. Patch merely raised an optic ridge.

"Sideswipe? Now why would he do this? When he wants to annoy Ratchet, he comes in here and does it himself. He certainly doesn't need your help."

Ratchet scowled at the reminder. "Don't remind me, lugnut! I at least was hoping to have one quiet day. Just one!" He stalked into the room completely now, moving to stand with servos on hips in front of the topsy-turvy Overscore. He studied the way his assistant had been placed, one leg straight out, the other bent in while his arm were spread in arcs above his helm. He looked like one of those dancers one would have seen in the atriums of the Grand Halls in Praxus before the war. The look was… comical.

"If you smiled, you might look more attractive." Patch snickered, prodding his fellow medic in the side, eliciting a half successful squirm from the trapped mech.

"Go suck an exhaust!" Overscore growled. Patch merely laughed.

Ratchet sighed, really thinking this was far too early in the cycle to deal with this. Especially after the metacycles of odd little pranks and looks he had been getting from the twins. He wished with his entire spark that the incident in the showers had never happened. Now he could hardly look at either twin without remembering that they saw that one moment of weakness he fought to keep hidden. Yet, at the same time, it was almost… relieving. And it wasn't as if they had gone and told the entire Ark. He was grateful for that. That didn't mean it wasn't awkward whenever he saw the twins.

"Come on." Ratchet sighed, opening an open communication to Wheeljack. "Let's get him down before he starts glitching us out."

"Frag me!" The medic groaned, slumping on a berth.

Patch grinned lewdly. "Been there, done that."

Ratchet gave him a withering glare, purposefully ignoring the snickering from the remaining patients in the medbay. "Shut it, Patch."

The other medic merely chuckled, putting away the last of the tools they had used to help pry Overscore from the wall. Wheeljack had calmly suggested after the irate assistant had left that they keep the peeled shape of him on the wall. Ratchet had met that idea with wrench to his friend's shoulder. He got enough of the arrogant fragger on duty. He didn't need a reminder.

"I thought it was pretty mild as far as some of Sideswipe's pranks go." Patch offered innocently, his on crème white paint job looking a little worse for wear, but Patch had never much cared for looks as long as his systems were healthy and his patients tended to. It was probably the only reason Sunstreaker had for refusing to let the mech touch him.

"Oh, I don't disagree. What I want to know is why you gave Sides the override codes for Overscore's door."

"Me?" Patch's optics were wide in mock disbelief. Then he smirked. "You call him Sides, now, do you?"

"Don't start reading into it." Ratchet snorted while Wheeljack's helm fins blinked in a light pink indicating he was holding back a quip of his own.

"Well, something's happened. They don't give you such a hard time anymore." Patch shrugged well naturedly. "I can't help but wonder what changed…"

"Nothing's changed." His friend replied honestly, shrugging. "I think they just got bored."

Ratchet stood from the berth and turned away to start working on the remaining patients. Until he heard Wheeljack mutter, "Or not."

He glanced back at him. "What?"

Patch was shaking in silent laughter, doubled over. Wheeljack was most definitely grinning under that fragging mask. "What?" He repeated dangerously.

The engineer waved him over, chuckling. Patch was probably on the verge of having fits. Which only seemed to be more likely when Wheeljack carefully turned the CMO around took a picture and databurst the entire image to Ratchet. There were a few moments of silence in which Ratchet opened the image. And then his optics were cycling wide in surprise before narrowing in the same klik. Apparently somebot thought it would be funny to write on his aft in bright blue 'I need to get laid!'

Something inside Ratchet snapped.

Sunstreaker was impressed despite himself. He had honestly thought that when it came to pranks, there was one of two options in which the situations (depending) could go. The first comprised of the execution of the prank, the enjoyment of said prank being fulfilled, and the cover-up in which one could get away spot free. The second ended with one's capture, admittance or denial thereof, and brig time from whatever officer just happened to be around at the time. He had never considered the option of revenge. Oh, there had been many who tried. Some officers even. Not one had succeeded and all had ended up with it turned around on them.

Which was why it was immensely satisfying and amusing to see his brother coated in bright blue paint, only his optics being a shade lighter… Mostly in surprise.

He whistled low, already recognizing the paint for what it was. The same color his brother had used to paint all over the CMO's aft the other day. "He got you good, Sides."

Sideswipe's surprise quickly morphed into a scowl. "Shut up."

How the frag Ratchet ahd managed to find enough paint, get into their shared quarters and place the bucket precisely in the middle of the doorjamb, Sunstreaker was sure Jazz would know. The saboteur probably had a hand in it as well. Sunstreaker's grin just grew. After all, amusement at the expense of his twin never ceased to be just that. Amusing.

Sideswipe's glare was now directed at the puddle of drying paint around his pedes and then at himself. It was already drying and he absolutely refused to look like Mirage! Even if he was the one noble that he and his brother could stand. Just barely.

"This is going to take forever to wash off…" Sideswipe grumbled. "And I have a patrol shift in a few kliks with Jazz! He's never gonna shut up about this!"

Sunstreaker shrugged, not caring in the slightest. "It was bound to happen. You've been baiting him since… you know." He finished lamely, not wanting to really bring up that night. It still disturbed him.

And it was true. Sideswipe had been on Hatchet's bad list for the last few orns. Sunstreaker knew why too. Helped out often, but only to alleviate boredom. Or so he told himself. Apparently, after looking into it as subtly as they could (Patch was a wonderful source of Ratchet gossip) it wasn't unnatural for Ratchet to go into a sort of depressed haze after big battles. Especially battles where Ratchet had lost a patient's life. And the thought of that was almost as disturbing as seeing the actual breakdown. Apparently even Patch didn't know about those.

So Sideswipe, for the protection of their sanity, continued playing pranks. Only these ones had a different reason than blind dislike fueling them. They distracted the Hatchet.

Sunstreaker was careful to not touch his brother as he moved past him and into their quarters. When he turned around, there was a mischievous glint in his brother's optics that he wasn't sure he liked.

"Oh, it is so on!"

It had been one of the strangest cycles of Optimus Prime's lifecycle.

It had started as normal as anything around the Ark could get, staff meetings and battle plans in place, Ironhide complaining about his joints, Ratchet unscrewing Sideswipe's normal seat in the recreation room –

That had given him pause. Prime was tempted to just leave it and write it off as not enough recharge. Yet he was nothing if not a responsible leader. And responsible leaders found out what was wrong with their CMOs. No matter how much they really just wanted to leave well enough alone.

So Optimus Prime found himself trudging back to the doorway of the rec room and stood there, watching the medic grumble to himself on his knees as he worked meticulously at the chair legs.

"Might I ask what it is you are doing?" He finally rumbled, torn between amusement and confusion as far as his friend was concerned.

"Payback." Ratchet grunted, not even flinching in surprise as if he knew his leader had been there the entire time.

"Payback." Prime reiterated.

"Mhm."

"On Sideswipe." Not a question.

"Yep."

There was a pause before Prime sighed in tolerant amusement. "Dare I ask what he did now?"

"Dare."

Prime gave the CMO a funny look, not that the red and white mech could actually see it with his back facing the Autobot CO. "Alright. What did Sideswipe do this time?"

"Pit Spawn Hellion just thought it would be all shades of funny to take my datareports right before they were due and send them to Prowl one at a time with crude illustrations all over them." Ratchet's voice was deadly calm, and Optimus felt a shiver pass down his spinal struts.

"I thought Prowl already…"

"He did." Ratchet grunted, finally standing from his task and tossing a nut in the air. "But I don't believe that brig time gets through Sideswipe's thick, probably triple-plated helm. This drives the point home in a much more satisfactory way."

"Right." Optimus Prime said, his optics following the bouncing nut for a moment. "Just, Ratchet, don't you think you're maybe taking this… a little too much to spark?"

A wicked grin flashed across the good doctor's face and Optimus swore the Pit had just frozen over. His fuel lines sure did. "Oh, not at all." Ratchet snickered. "I just like picking on the extremely irritating patients."

He caught the nut one last time before stashing it in his subspace. "Well, I better get back on duty. My shift is starting."

Optimus Prime stared after his subordinate and best friend for several long moments before he allowed himself to chuckle. Shaking his head with a thankful prayer that Ratchet was on their side, he left the recreational room, passing Sideswipe of all mechs on his way out. Apparently he had just gotten off shift.

Doing his best not to chuckle, Prime nodded amiably at the red warrior on his own way out, although Sideswipe was staring at him curiously. He was only a few meters down the hall when a loud clang echoed behind him followed by several creative curses. Apparently, Ratchet wasn't the only one taking lessons from somebody else. Optimus Prime allowed himself a deep throated laugh when Sideswipe stalked past him, his steps swift as he rubbed his aft and appeared to be holding a leg of the chair Ratchet had just so painstakingly took apart.

Yes, definitely one of the strangest days of his lifecycle… But it was nice to see someone caring enough to keep their CMO distracted when he didn't need to be dwelling.

So, with a large smile on his faceplates, Optimus continued on with his cycle, in a better mood than he had been in all metacycle.

Sideswipe really wasn't sure when things had changed. Well, he had an idea, but like most of his life, it was just one moment out of thousands that made up the bigger picture. There really was no reason to try and remember. It had started as just an idea to keep the medic busy and focused after each crippling battle, after each devastating loss. The medic had been the one to escalate the first idea into a prank war which had been rudely cut off by Prowl when Sideswipe's rainbow mix of paint bomb had ended up coating him as well as half the on-shift in the Command Center. Sideswipe hadn't meant for it to be so powerful. Well, okay, he had, but it was only supposed to be aimed at one mech in particular. It wasn't his fault Ratchet had decided to make his reports personally that orn.

Not that the pranks had stopped, but they just weren't as much fun anymore. Not when he couldn't go as all out as he wanted to.

Idea two had been, in his opinion, a stroke of genius. Everybot knew he was reckless anyways, so minor or major injuries on of off the field weren't really that strange. Just little things, and really, it wasn't like went looking to get himself hurt. It was all the normal things. Frag off Sunstreaker, get in fight with Sunstreaker, bust a knee servo or something, patrol ambush, catch an energy blade with your helm… things like that. Regardless though, all the swearing and cursing and complaining when he finally found his way to medical kept the medic distracted. Nobody could tell he and his brother were really acting any different. Even if they cared, they kept it to themselves. After all, Ratchet cared, so they cared. That wasn't going to change.

Although he was pretty sure that at least four other bots were in the know, the smart fraggers.

Prime knew. Probably had from that first time Sideswipe had walked through the medbay doors willingly, with a few tension cables disconnected from a sparring match with the visiting Wreckers. It was the little ways his optics seemed to brighten as the red frontliner stepped through the doors that belied a smile underneath the ever present mask. That didn't really concern Sideswipe. His own attention had been fully focused on the tense and scowling medic. Prime had quietly excused himself, leaving the two alone.

"What do you want Sideswipe?" Ratchet had growled, irritated.

"Tore a few cables in my arm, docbot. Can you take a look?"

"What?"

The single, stunned question had been worth the lecture on how stupid frontliners should just fragging become smart and save him a lot of trouble by not fighting mechs two times their weight to begin with.

Prowl knew. He knew the day that Sunstreaker had strolled in, demanding his paint be fixed because Sideswipe was an irritant glitch who couldn't tell electric gold from a common bland yellow if he had both shades splashing him in the faceplates and his life depended on it. Which it probably did, judging by the look on Sunstreaker's faceplates. That and Sunstreaker absolutely refused to look like Bumblebee.

While it was un-Sunstreaker like to have anybot to touch his paint other than his brother, Ratchet's optics had merely narrowed and he had smacked the warrior upside the head with his wrench. After all, no bot told the CMO what to do in his medbay. After a lot of grumbling, Sunstreaker found himself with the proper color he was supposed to be… And promptly received another wrench to his helm and a lecture about wasting the CMO's time and paint reserves.

Instead of doing what Sunstreaker would be expected to do, he had merely pouted, folded his arm like a sulking sparkling and muttered a sullen 'Whatever.' He had ignored the small cough from the SIC which he fully believed was a chuckle in favor of watching the disbelieving brow that had risen on the medic's faceplates.

The new dents on his helm, he decided, had been worth it.

Jazz knew; probably had been the first one to figure it out. The battle had bee a difficult one, the biggest they'd had in quite awhile and injuries ran high. The medbay was tuffed to capacity and Sunstreaker had been one of the worst off. He had stabilized, but not until after joors of surgery. They had lost two others that day. After releasing the yellow terror to his brother with strict orders to 'get rest, fraggit!' both twins had tugged the CMO into the biggest hug their superior had ever seen.

The big grin that had spread across Jazz's face made Sunstreaker want to use one of his new arms to punch the saboteur, but the flabbergasted look on the medic's face was far better than the usual desolation after a death.

They both had decided that humiliating themselves had been worth it.

They were pretty sure that Patch and Wheeljack knew as well. Seriously, the mechs seemed to have some kind of sixth sense when it came to things about Ratchet. Granted they had known him for a long time each, but it still bothered either twin when they had to walk in for some new repair and another lecture to hear them snickering in the background. You would think they would leave mechs alone to keep somebot sane in peace!

But they both agreed that at least Ratchet's rants drowned them out. So maybe that was worth it too.

The battle was a big one. Really big. The Ark had been targeted the moment it had landed in some broken ghost town. Luckily the Ark had been responding to a distress signal from another one of the Autobot battleships and they were at least even on both sides as far as numbers went. But the fight itself was brutal.

Sideswipe remembered pain. He remembered his brother pulling him from the path of laserfire just as it hit the ground where he'd been standing. He also remembered that Ratchet had been working on his busted leg in the thick of it all, Sunstreaker doing his best to keep the 'Cons off them while Ratchet worked. He also remembered the howl of agony and the liquid fire that tore across their bond when Sunstreaker took a direct shot to the chest.

Even though he remembered this, it was all really just one big blur. More pieces to the puzzle he called his life that could be placed and forgotten. That's all they were.

But Sideswipe swore that there was always one piece that would stand out forever in his cortex. The feeling of pure horror when two 'Cons leapt over the barricade they had been attempting to use for cover, and wrestled the furious, spitting and cursing medic away while a third hovered over him, cruel smile in place as he raised the butt of his rifle.

"Nighty – night."

And then it came down, plunging Sideswipe into the darkest black he could ever remember.

He couldn't tell you when things had started changing, but he sure as pit could say that the change had given just one more reason to fight his hardest.


	8. When You Play With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Chapter eight is up! Sorry this took so long but this chapter was fighting me every step of the way. Thank you for Darkeyes17's help! A few notes:
> 
> Note 1: Okay, I'm gonna see how many people actually read the Author's notes here at the beginning. I've snuck in two OC characters from the Feeling Series third arc on Darkeye's17's profile. Let's see if those who have ALREADY read the story can guess them. Match their names to their colors and send it in your review (no pms) and I'll do a one shot fic to the first person to get it right! (it's really not that hard, but meh... I'm bored and my stories are lulling atm.)
> 
> Note 2: There is a one shot in my series of oneshots Day by Day called Revenge Prank. I do believe that someone told me that they were about ready to fling their wallet at me if they got to see Sideswipe's reaction to Ratchet's revenge prank. Well, it got me thinking and there you go. Read it if you want^^
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be. Aside from a few OCs
> 
> Now, ON WITH THE SHOW!

Sideswipe was in pain as he came up from the medicated stasis lock.

That alone told him something was wrong. Or Hatchet had run out of supplies again.

Pit… he felt like he'd just been stomped on by Omega Supreme twice, rebuilt and then sent head first into an explosion… and then stomped on again.

That was the first thing his subroutines offered to him as his optics flickered weakly and he stared at the horrid orange of the medical bay. The next was the instant need to affirm that Ratchet had seen to his brother as well. If he could move, he would have levered himself out of the berth to search, but as it was, he had to swing his head from side to side and ignore the nausea of his still calibrating equilibrium chip. The relief of seeing his brother in the berth a few metres away from him, looking better, the large hole covered with replacement plating was quickly replaced with confusion.

Why was Patch working on his brother? Where was Hatchet?

"Pa-atch?" Sideswipe took a moment to recycle his vocalizer before trying again, his voice stronger by just the tiniest amount. "Patch?"

It was barely enough.

The medic SIC of the medbay turned to regard the red twin with weary optics. Other emotions danced in the expressive golden orbs, but they were difficult to place. Exhaustion, most assuredly. Pain was a given judging by the large jagged line that was hastily patched with temp. plating. There was also… grief? Regret? Sideswipe couldn't rightly place it as fogged as his processors were.

"Sideswipe." Even the mech's voice was strained and exhausted. "I just finished on your brother. He'll pull through, but I need you to cycle back down. Your systems need to integra-"

"Where's Ratchet?" Sideswipe asked, suddenly realizing that the medbay had been feeling empty despite the many occupied berths. It always felt like that without Ratchet.

Patch visibly startled and looked away, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "He's…"

The medic shook his head, his mouthplates thinning before he walked away, leaving Sideswipe confused. The red mech turned his gaze back to the ceiling, refusing to give into the urge to shut back down into painless depths of unconsciousness. Patch was acting like Ratchet was dead. But that couldn't be true… why would the Medic from the Pit just keel over and die… And then his optics widened in alarm as a cold sensation washed through his spark.

Ratchet had been out there with them.

He had been repairing his leg.

The shot that sent fire across his bond with his brother came back to him. Sunstreaker fell again, a horrifying amount of energon spraying from his wound. Ratchet was cursing; throwing himself forward to cover Sideswipe should any shot come to close to his patient. Sideswipe shoved at the CMO, urging him to run, to seek shelter farther back.

Whatever they had been using as cover had exploded, several figures leaping over the broken barricade. Hands were on the medic, dragging the struggling form away, another above him, an evil grin…

'Nighty – night.'

Ratchet was gone.

It was cold. Well, not necessarily considering that a Cybertronian's thick plating and temperature regulators kept them from being cold, per se. It was more of a chill down his spinal strut that he stubbornly refused to identify as fear. It was… discomfort. After all, the Decepticon Brig wasn't the most comfortable place on the planet… Frag, it wasn't comfortable period.

Especially with all the damage to his frame.

Ratchet sat back with a sigh and a wince, turning to his internal diagnostics to guage just how bad off he was.

His left shoulder ached where it had been dislocated and then relocated. Apparently having a useless medic was not on a 'Cons list of things to haul around. The crack along his cheek where he had been backhanded hard for being too mouthy with an officer was leaking energon sluggishly, but nothing serious. The flow would stop soon, his self repairs tending to it quickly. His abdomen was sore, the internal wiring pinched and uncomfortable from the hard punch he'd received, leaving the plating dented and the glass on his front cracked. Again, for being too mouthy. He had a processor ache as well from where he'd been knocked out cold once the 'Cons watching him had become tired of his mouth.

It had apparently not taken long.

Ah, Ratchet, when will you learn to keep your mouth shut?

All in all though, it could have been much worse. As in I-could-be-missing-a-limb-or-dead worse. The medic sighed, shifting to try and take the strain off his wounded shoulder. Not that it would matter much. He was pretty sure that it would be just as damaged or worse within the next few joors. And thinking on what may be awaiting him, he wasn't sure that having a capture not kill bounty on his helm was a good thing or not.

There was a loud clang that echoed down the almost completely dark corridor of the brig before a large mech moved into sight. There was a dangerous looking scowl on his otherwise blank faceplates, his dark blue and black paintjob dulled from battled and scored with deep scratches. The dulled ruby optics stared ahead, roaming every so often over the other cells. Empty, aside from a few Decepticon troublemakers. Making him the only Autobot on the ship unless there was a separate brig… Which was entirely plausible.

As if to prove him right, a scream suddenly echoed from somewhere in the run down hideaway. It was far off that it was merely an echo, but the sound still reverberated through the hull of the brig and Ratchet's spark. The medic tensed, denta gritting as his programming flared. The mech outside of his cell, the replacement guard obviously, grinned cruelly. Another scream tore through the base, and Ratchet felt the urge to curl up.

He could do nothing. He was stuck here, unable to soothe the pain the lost soul must be feeling. Unable to help. Unable to heal.

This… this was the worst form of torture.

Ratchet's servos curled into fists in their restraints, the tenseness sending signals of pain and protestation from his abused shoulder joint as the third scream cut off and everything fell silent, aside from the memory. Ratchet could hear snickering in the next cell over, one of the Decepticons being punished taking delight in the tortured screams. An eerie silence fell, Ratchet doing his best to block out the agonized screams and the Decepticons' ventilations filling the space in between.

The doors to the brig opened once more, two mechs walking through with a limp form between them, leaking energon and clearly unconscious. One mech walked in front, looking quite upset, his silver and black paint not clean but well taken care of. His optics glinted dangerously as they fell upon the brig guard.

"We were told…" The mech's voice was soft, dissatisfied and promising pain for the next mech to push him over the edge. Ratchet would say that the mech was balancing between sanity and insanity. "That there is a medic down here."

The black and blue mech, his prison guard, snorted and jerked his head in Ratchet's cell's direction. The smaller mech glanced in his direction and ratchet glared back defiantly, doing his best to ignore his programming screaming at him to scan the wounded mech between the two Decepticons. With a 'humph' that sounded like disdain, the mech motioned for his companions to dump the wounded prisoner into the cell with the medic. One unlocked the cuffs restraining his servos before gesturing at the fallen mech.

"Fix him, Autobot. Or you can be sure your fate will be worse."

With that, he left followed by the other two and the bigger prison guard who must have decided he had become bored.

Not even bothering to spare the energy to glare after them, Ratchet was scrambling across the filthy cell to kneel next to the mech, noting that he was a Praxian if the mangled doorwings on his back were anything to go by. There were gouges in his chest, his helm dented horribly, an optic cracked, energon covering his faded orange and blue paintjob and holes going through his wrists and ankles that appeared as if he had been bolted down that was and then had them ripped out at the end. It was no secret to Ratchet that this was the source of the screaming.

With an angered curse, Ratchet reached into subspace and pulled out his medical kit, getting to work on the worst of the damage.

'Just you hang on youngling. We'll get out of here… somehow.'

"I can assure you we are doing everything we can at the moment, Sideswipe." Prowl intoned neutrally, the Second in Command sporting several of his own dents and injuries. "Unfortunately, we do not have the resources nor the faculties to mount a rescue operation at this point in time - "

"Frag that!" The crimson mech exclaimed harshly, his voice not wavering despite the inner turmoil of his spark which was a combination of both his and Sunstreaker's feelings. Sunstreaker was taking this harder than he was. And the kicker was neither of them could figure out just why they were caring so much. It was war. Mechs died. Friends, allies, enemies… They were all just faces.

The problem was Ratchet had somehow made himself more than just a face. He had a name and a life too.

Prowl seemed to find the issue just as baffling, although no outward expression seemed to indicate to it. That Ratchet could handle the Twins was no surprise. Prowl had never had his doubts. That the Twins would take a liking to the ornery old medic… His logic center still had trouble with it, but nowhere near enough for a crash. It was just… unexpected rather than illogical. However, easier though it may be to keep the Twins in line with Ratchet around, their new found attachment was only causing problems in this instance.

They just did not have the resources to go after one comrade, no matter if he were officer or otherwise. Not with half of the Ark wounded and/or critical. And many more still dead. Especially when one of those stuck in the ICU was the Prime himself.

"Excuse me?"

"I said Frag. That." Sideswipe growled low and dangerous, a sound that was echoed by his brother standing behind him just inside the doorway to Prowl's office. "We can't just leave him in the hands of the 'Cons! He won't last a klik!"

The black and white frowned. "I'm afraid that you underestimate Ratchet's will power."

"This has nothing to do with underestimating anybot!" Sideswipe cried in exasperation. "Have you ever seen the inside if a Decepticon brig? What they do to mechs in there!"

Prowl's gaze turned hard and icy. "Yes, I have Sideswipe." Even his voice was like ice. "Ratchet was –is – my friend. And though it pains me to say it, as it stands we do not possess the necessary means to mount a rescue operation. And unless you can somehow find us those means, you will have to be content with doing what you can do on your own. Dismissed."

They were quickly ushered from Prowl's office by a nervous looking aide, but both were too stunned to even think of arguing. The door slid shut behind them, leaving the halls quiet as they stared at it for a long while. Finally, after several breems of silence, Sunstreaker turned to his brother in barely concealed amazement.

"Did he just give us permission to go after Ratchet on our own?"

"Yeah…" Sideswipe murmured, a small, bitter smile pulling at his faceplates. "I think he did."

His golden counterpart returned a calculating glare to the door before seeming to come to some sort of decision with a low grunt. Without a word, the lithe warrior turned on his heel and continued down the hallway that housed the Ark's command staff. Sideswipe took after him with a shout of surprise.

"Sunny! Hey! Wait up!" The red mech caught at his brother's arm, ignoring the jerking attempt to dislodge his grip. "What the frag Sunstreaker!"

"We need an expert Sideswipe." Sunstreaker growled. He was prideful, he was arrogant, but he wasn't stupid. No matter how well he knew he could fight he nor his brother would ever break into a Decepticon brig on their own.

Sideswipe shot him a surprised look, before casting his stare down the hall, alighting on a certain door. An understanding flash of his optics before both were moving quickly to the door.

They didn't bother knocking as they strode into the small office. Nor did the mech on the other side seem surprised to see them.

"I was wonderin' when the two of yah would show up." The visored mech grinned, feet up on his barely used desk.

Without a word, both Twins grinned right back, both grins predatory and calculating. "We need your help Jazz."


	9. Expect to Get Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is here! Never let it be said that I don't get things to you in a timely matter. It just happens rarely ^^
> 
> This was a chapter I have been planning for MONTHS now. And it didn't come out exactly as first planned. I had never meant to add any extra mechs other than unknown D-Cons to this chappie, but I did. Plot bunnies can be both wonderful and horrible little creatures!
> 
> Big thanks to MyNameIsJag for helping me get past a small bit of writer's block!
> 
> And I meant to add this in the last chapter, but I forgot. so here it is now ^^
> 
> Astrosecond- Seconds
> 
> Klik- Minute
> 
> Orn- Hour
> 
> Joor- Day
> 
> Cycle- Duty cycle (shifts basically)
> 
> Metacycle- Week
> 
> Vorn- Year
> 
> Enjoy~
> 
> Disclaimer: This thing is mundane, but here goes... I don't own so you don't sue!
> 
> :-Comm talk -:
> 
> ::Bond talk::

Everything hurt. By Primus, did everything hurt. But if everything was hurting, that meant that he was still alive. Which could be both good and bad. Good because that meant that he had a chance to get out of here. Bad because he knew that as soon as the 'Cons knew he was still functional he would be right back in that room.

He didn't want to go back into that room.

On second thought, being dead was starting to sound loads better than that room again. Not that it would matter. He knew how things worked with the Decepticons. Had known for metacycles… Primus it felt longer.

He grunted, a flare of pain in his side sharper than anything else that ached for a moment before it went gloriously numb in the area.

"Sorry." The voice was soft, unfamiliar. And the apology had been genuine. So not a Decepticon. Had he been saved?

The Praxian unshuttered his optics, trying to focus through the pain in his frame and the nausea as his vision swam. At first, he could barely make out a white blurb in the darkness that shifted above his helm. No bright lights here. Thankfully. A few reboots later and he could see more clearly than he would have liked to.

At first, he had focused solely on the mech above him, taking in the white armor and gray chevron and then the red crosses adorning the mech's shoulders. Kinda blocky, but with good angles where the mech could easily be attractive if he wanted to be.

Odd thought, and so not appropriate for the situation.

Okay, focus, so the mech had crosses on his shoulder armor which meant medic. There was also a red symbol emblazoned on his chestplates that looked vaguely familiar, but at the angle it was at…

Autobot. An Autobot medic.

Primus must love him.

And then he was focusing on the background which was dim and foreboding. Which brought his attention back to the medic and he finally noted the dents and cracks and overall disrepair of the medic's armor. Which meant the medic was prisoner too. Primus must hate him. He was still in a Decepticon brig.

He hissed as more pain flared in his abdomen and then sighed in relief whne that area went numb as well.

"Necessary." The medic grunted, his voice rough, but far friendlier than any of the mechs around here.

"Why…" He caught and held the medic's surprised gaze, his voice far weaker than he wanted it to be. And by the thinning lip plates, the other hadn't expected him to speak either. "Just gonna end up back in that room."

There was a pause in whatever word the medic was doing. "I know." His voice was so quiet and there was such pain in the two words that the Praxian could almost believe that it wasn't him that was about to be interrogated again. There was a long stretch of silence, and the mech was surprised to note that nobot had laughed or jeered at them yet.

"Where're the guards?"

The medic bot shrugged, his optics never leaving his abdomen as he started up his work once more. "They left awhile ago, some big meeting."

There was still lingering pain behind the words and the pain wasn't for himself.

"What's your designation?" The neutral asked, his own gaze staying firmly fixed on the medic's face.

Only a grin adorned his own when the mech looked at him in surprise.

"Ratchet." The mech said stiffly.

"Nice to meetcha Ratchet. My designation's Smokescreen. I'd shake your servo, but mine are kind of useless at the moment." It was a poor attempt at humor, but the pain in the mech's optics was replaced with a small amount of amusement for at least a moment.

"Wish we'd met in better circumstances." Ratchet allowed, a small, sad quirk to his lip plates.

Smokescreen felt his own grin slipping into something like resignation and he ignored the ache in his arm as he reached up and tapped the medic's knee lightly where he was kneeling on the floor beside him. "Hey, Ratch, not your fault."

A long, deep sigh answered him. "I know."

Yeah, he knew. But the mech was still blaming himself. "Mech, I swear, you sound like you were the one in that interrogation room. Stop being hard on yourself. There was no way you could have know I was here."

He could have actually smiled at the sharp glare Ratchet sent him. Could have, but his face hurt too much. A grin was all he could manage and even that twinged.

"I am not."

"Are so." Smokescreen was astounded that a mech looked so natural scowling. Although, it was more of a pout in his opinion. "Psychologist."

He watched the scowl melt off Ratchet's face with some interest. "Psychologist? Really?"

Smokescreen would have replied, he even had a snappy comeback on the tip of his glossa, but the cold voice cut across him.

"Well, look who's awake." He watched Ratchet's helm snap up, though he himself couldn't move his own without pain flaring up. "'Bout fragging time!"

There was the sound of energy bars fizzling out and then pain exploding through Smokescreen's body as somebot grabbed him roughly and began dragging him out.

Ratchet jerked to his pedes, growling threateningly at the silver and black mech that was mistreating his patient so brutally. He made to lunge at the fragger, to knock him away from Smokescreen who was keening in pain, unable to fight back, but his previous prison guard was there, grabbing him and hauling him through the air to hit the back wall painfully. His helm hit the metal with a jarring clang, his vision going static for several moments.

"Cute." The smaller mech snickered cruelly. And then he and two others were dragging Smokescreen away, leaving the medic unable to answer the pleading denial in the Praxian's optics.

That left him and the big guy… who was staring at him in an alarming way.

'Primus, if you're listening, I could use a miracle right about now.'

If any of the Decepticons had decided that things had finally become too boring and had looked up towards the ceiling if only for something other to stare at than the ground, they might have been aware of the figure crawling upside down gracefully. Then again, that was a big maybe. As it stood, no Decepticon looked up and even if they had, all they would have seen were shadows. Why give notice to one small movement among many that played tricks on you?

Jazz, for his part, was ready to give himself up as it was if only to find the fragging brig that these slaggers were keeping Ratchet in. Seriously, no even Darkmount had this many brigs spread over one base. And really, there wasn't a single prisoner in them. His information couldn't have been wrong, unless an uncharted airlift had taken the medic from the battlefield without anybot noticing.

Fat chance of that.

The saboteur repressed a sigh and crept for the next vent he found, checking for any traps before slithering his way on in. He could only hope that this one turned up something…

And Primus must have been listening to his prayers.

The screams were horrendous, echoing so loudly in the vents that Jazz was forced to turn his audio receptors down a notch to keep himself from going deaf. He crept forward, towards an open shaft where there was light coming through and glanced down into the room below him. His spark twisted at the sight, even if his face was outwardly blank.

Strapped to a metal slab and held there by bolts through already shredded doorwings was a mech he didn't recognize as either 'Con or Autobot, but that didn't mean anything. However, the TIC did recognize the mech in standing before him, twirling an energy rod coated with energon and grinning as if he had just received the biggest creation day present in the universe.

Shadetamer.

The mech's name sent a chill of cold rage down the saboteur's spinal struts.

A contemptuous sound of impatience sounded from below, Shadetamer moving closer to the mech strapped to the slab. "He's passed out. Figures. Guess I'll just have to take a break…" The mech that Jazz knew was quite literally insane strutted out of the room, the lights shutting off and leaving Jazz to switch over to infra-red. Not that he minded that much. Wriggling himself into position, the saboteur slid slowly along the downwards shaft, doing his best not to make any noise. He hit the grate, and paused only long enough to reach his digits through the slats and get the bolts loose.

With that obstacle out of the way, he dropped down, landing without making a sound. A soft, but pained groan came from the only other occupant in the room, indicating the mech was in fact not passed out, but had managed to grab himself reprieve, no matter how short lived. Carefully, Jazz approached him.

"Hey."

The mech jerked in surprise, and fear, his optics cycling wide. Jazz did his best not to aggravate the injuries on the mech's facial plating as he covered his mouth, to keep him from crying out. "Calm down! Ah'm here ta help!" He waited for the mech to calm, his sensitive audios listening for anything approaching should Shadetamer decide to come back anytime soon. When the mech had sufficiently calmed himself, although he was shaking rather badly (whether from pain or fear was hard to tell, but Jazz suspected it was a healthy dose of both) he spoke in muted tones. "Now ah need ya to nod yes or no to every question ah'm gonna ask. Can ya do that for me, mech?"

Slowly, the mech nodded. Jazz pulled his hand away. "Good mech. Alrigh', are you an Autobot?"

A shake of a helm, the optics watching him warily as Jazz frowned. "Are ya a Decepticon?" Another shake of the helm. A neutral then. That complicated things. On the one hand, Jazz had his self appointed mission. On the other, he wasn't inclined to leave the poor mech in the servos of a delusional mad mech like Shadetamer. Especially since Shadetamer worked directly for Shockwave. Which indicated that whatever Shades was trying to wring from the mech, it was important. Alright then, that settled it. If Shockwave wanted information from him, then it was Jazz's priority to make sure that didn't happen.

But he wasn't walking out of here without Ratchet either.

"Alrigh' I can get ya outta here, pal, but Ah'm lookin' fer a medic. Designation is Ratchet. Ya know him?"

A nod. Bingo.

"Ya know where he is?"

Nod. Now they were getting somewhere.

"Ah'm gonna uplink to ya for a moment so ya can show meh where they're keepin' him. That okay wit' you?" He didn't want to traumatize the poor bot anymore than necessary, but the mech nodded. Jazz set his face plates and dragged an uplink cable from his wrist, carefully inserting it into the energon encrusted data port on the back of the neutral's neck. A wave of rage swelled in him when he noticed how much damage had been done to the port and around it, but a frightened tug and whimper from the tortured spark had him reeling in his emotions. The poor guy didn't need to feel his anger on top of everything else he had been through.

Sifting gently through the information offered to him, Jazz nodded and pulled out.

"Good. Ya think ya can hold on fer a little longer? Ah promise ah'll getcha outta here, but ah need ta make sure ah 'ave the time."

There was a long pause in which Jazz watched many emotions flash through the mechs optics; fear, distrust, pain, helplessness, before they settled on determination and the mech nodded. Jazz nodded himself in return. "Ah'll be right back fer ya. Cross mah spark!"

:- Meister to Red Rebel 'n Mellow Yellow.-:

The commlink crackled, and Sunstreaker scowled at it. He had told Jazz he wasn't using stupid names! His brother, however, beat him to answering.

:- Red Rebel here, Meister. What's your status? -:

:- Ah'm on mah way to the holding pens now. You two in position for the pick up? -:

:- We're in position and awaiting your signal, Meister. How much longer? :-

:- Not long. Ah'm gonna blow the back wall, so as soon as ya both see the lightshow, rush 'em. Ah got another package to pick up before we blow the place sky high. -:

Each twin exchanged a look of puzzlement, but quickly returned their attention to the mission at hand. Ops mechs were strange. Who were they to question the strangest of them?

Ratchet strained against the cuffs anchoring him to the wall, muffled curses and insults running together through the gag that had been stuffed inside his mouth (thankfully clean) as his optics burned with absolute loathing at his captor. The big blue and black mech merely stood there, staring down, his optics burning a bright ruby with… intent that Ratchet really did not want to contemplate. At all.

A slow, malicious grin spread over the pale faceplates, large hands coming down to mockingly caress parted white thighs. Ratchet screeched as best he could in outrage as he attempted to kick out and gain some distance between them.

The mech snickered. "Feisty, eh?" He leaned in closer. "I like 'em small and feisty."

Apparently his resistance just seemed to amuse the bastard. He glowered at the Decepticon as if his very gaze could burn a hold right through his thick helm.

A deep chuckle that sounded more like the mech had to bolts scraping together in his throat scraped across the sensitive metal of his audio. "What, don't tell me you're getting all shy on me. Not after the way you've run that mouth of yours for the past few joors." One servo lifted to grasp the medic's chin and hold his face still. "Hmmm, what a pretty little mouth you have too. Maybe later, I'll teach you how to use it right."

Ratchet felt a cold trickle of fear that he couldn't deny this time around. The mech was absolutely serious. And there was nothing he could do about it. The Autobot CMO felt absolutely sick to his tanks, his struggling increasing along with his horror as the big mech pressed in, shoving his frame against the wall with a sickening screech of metal against metal. His legs were rendered useless as a weapon when they were shoved apart by wide hips. Black servos scraped down his sides, bringing far more pain than anything else, as Ratchet's helm whipped back in forth in denial, the hands coming to rest mockingly on his hips, large frame grinding into his.

This couldn't be happening.

The servos moved from his hips to follow a seam to his pelvic span.

This was a nightmare and any minute he would wake up in his own medbay.

Digits slid downwards, pressing into the seams of his interface panel.

No.

A large servo cupped the panel roughly, searching for the automatic manual release.

Oh Dear Primus, PLEASE!

A triumphant growl sounded in his audio, the mech having located the hidden release and he fingered it with sickening intent.

Nonononononononono!

Ratchet didn't get any further chance to be more horrified when the entire back wall to the brig suddenly tore itself apart in a massive explosion, flinging debris outwards and startling the mech. His prison guard tore away from his assault, bewildered and alarmed, his firearm instantly in his servo, ready to slag whoever had just blown up the back wall…

A golden servo connected with his faceplate accompanied by an enraged howl.

At first, Ratchet was far too shocked to pay any attention to the mechs now tumbling around on the ground, but when his entire vision filled with a furious, but oddly concerned Sideswipe, his processors immediately scrambled to bring him to full speed.

The red warrior was already tearing at the cuffs that kept him bound to the wall, the metal cracking disturbingly easy, but freeing his wrists and was therefore not worth dwelling on. As soon as the mech's pedes had hit the floor, Ratchet was yanking the gag from his mouth with a wretching noise. He tossed it like so much trash to the side and aallowed himself one shiver.

And then his pedes left the floor again with an indignant squawk of surprise.

He was now cradled against the crimson Twin's chassis, the strong, deadly arms flexing around his frame and holding him securely against himself. Ratchet didn't even have the time to attempt to squirm from the humiliating hold, before Sideswipe was shouting at his brother to 'Hurry the frag up!' Then they were moving through the rubble and out the massive hole in the wall.

Which was when Ratchet remembered his patient and truly began struggling as if his life depended on it. And in a way, it did. He could never forgive himself if he left Smokescreen behind.

"Slag it all, medic! Hold still!" Sideswipe growled as he ducked laser fire coming from arriving Decepticons. The alarms had finally been tripped and there were enemies trying to get a hit on him and his package.

Unfortunately, the writhing medic in his arms was not making his getaway any smoother.

"Put me down Sideswipe! We have to go back!"

"We're doing no such thing!"

"We can't just leave him!"

"Don't worry about Sunny, Ratch. He's a big mech!"

Deciding that this was entirely too slow, Sideswipe hoisted the mech over his shoulder. Much better. He could actually run faster this way. And hold onto the medic easier.

And it was an up that Ratchet seemed to take tot his position less kindly than he did the previous one, if his screech of outrage was anything to go on. Oh, he was so going to hang this over the mech's helm!

They had reached what Jazz had designated as the safe zone, when Sunstreaker finally caught up with them. His armor was dented horribly in many places and he was sure to glitch horribly over his paint later, but other than that he was largely unharmed. Sideswipe couldn't say for sure about the other mech, but he wouldn't be seeing him for awhile if ever again judging by the energon splattered generously over his brother's frame.

All three startled when the run down, absolutely inconspicuous abandoned factory behind them erupted in a mess of flames, debris and hapless mechs flying through the air. Both frontliners turned to admire Jazz's handiwork with deep satisfaction, but Ratchet could only stare in horror from Sideswipe's shoulder. Smokescreen had been in there. He felt his entire frame begin to tremble, the far too familiar dark encompass of feelings beginning to creep into his processors. He didn't even acknowledge when Sideswipe had set him on his pedes.

Until an urgent voice behind them called out, "Doc! I gotta mech 'ere ah need ya to take a look at!"

Ratchet rounded on the saboteur, startling the mech, but otherwise ignoring him. His spark sang with relief and outrage when he saw the limp form in the Master Spy's arms.

Immediately, he was all business. "I hope you have pick up, Jazz." He growled, striding forward and unsubspacing his medical kit. "Because there is no way I'm going to be able to fix him up out here. I don't have the tools!"

Behind him, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged small grins.

Let it never be admitted, but it felt incredibly relieving to have the Hatchet back.


	10. Thank Yous Are Harder Than You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize this took so long! I'm really hoping it's been worth the wait, but I suppose your reviews will tell me. Next chapter we start getting into the GOOD stuff! It'll be the first chapter to give this fic it's M rating XD
> 
> I could give you all sorts of excuses as to why it wasn't finished, but the main two is that RL really kicked my ass this month and Plot Bunnies are little glitches taht bite and don't let go TT^TT
> 
> But yeah...
> 
> HOWEVER! To date this is my LONGEST chapter for this story XD 9 and a half pages on my comp!
> 
> Disclaimer: Second verse, same as the first.
> 
> Edit: BIG SHOUT OUT TO MyNameisJag! She helped me A LOT with the thank you scene^^ You ROCK XD
> 
> Enjoy ~

"Frag it all! I told you there's nothing wrong!" Ratchet growled, refusing to lie down despite the insistent pressure of the obsidian servo on his shoulder.

Like pit was he going to allow any mech to treat him like an invalid in his medbay!

"C'mon, Hatchet!" Curse the red pitspawn for sounding so fragging cheerful! "It isn't like you wouldn't do this for any of us."

"There's a difference you hellion! I know when there's nothing wrong with me!"

A disbelieving snort was his only answer and that didn't come from Sideswipe. Ratchet turned his glare, which would have made any other mech cower away, on the golden mech in the berth two down from him. Sunstreaker, however, was not any other mech and he met the glare defiantly with one of his own, despite the fact that he was stuck laying down for the foreseeable future.

Unlike Sideswipe, Sunstreaker had taken quite a bit of pounding at the servos of Ratchet's 'Con jail guard. Ratchet hadn't necessarily been conscious for the actual repairs, but the patch welds he'd had to make do with out in the field had been telling enough. After all the energon had been rinsed off, there had been several deep tears in Sunstreaker's outer plating that had nearly torn through to the protoform underneath. And the vain mech had Primus to thank that several of them hadn't, otherwise there wouldn't have been a Sunstreaker laying on the berth this instant.

The glaring match continued until a soft touch, far different from Sideswipe's, grabbed at the medic's attention and he turned to meet the sincere gaze of Patch. His fellow medic was smiling in that fond exasperation he used to deal with Ratchet on days like this. Ratchet's glare merely melted into a scowl.

"Please, Ratchet. For my peace of mind, let me check you over."

Several moments of silence and the steady beeps and clicks of medical machines working passed and then Ratchet flopped down with a growl. "Don't know why. You already took care of everything while I was unconscious."

"You were exhausted." Patch sighed. "I wasn't about to wake you when I knew perfectly well what I was doing, old friend. I'm more surprised you didn't wake up kicking and screaming halfway through it."

The glare came back full force, aimed at the ceiling this time. "Oh yes, remind to thank Jazz for that!"

Patch chuckled as he moved to grab the tools he would need and Sideswipe moved to get out of his way, making his own way to sit on the edge of his Twin's berth to watch the two. "Laced your energon on the way home, did he?"

Ratchet merely crossed his arms with an angry huff, and continued to glare at the ceiling.

It was an orn later that the subject of the Praxian came up.

"Smokescreen is fine."

"Huh?"

"I said Smokescreen is fine." Patch repeated quietly, mindful of the slumbering Sunstreaker. Sideswipe had left to get his own rest joors before and now it was only the three of them left in the medbay.

"Huh."

Patch couldn't help the snicker that made its way past his block on his vocalizer. Not many saw Ratchet like this, on the edge of recharge, but distracted enough that it left him mellow. Almost willing to do as his doctor ordered and rest.

Almost.

Ratchet was still Ratchet afterall.

"Really. He'll be just fine. He's been through a lot, but I have to say he was pit fragging lucky to have you wind up where he was."

"They haven't seen him yet, have they?"

"Who?"

"Command."

"Ah." There in lie Ratchet's concern and what was preventing him from shutting down his subroutines and getting any rest. "No. Optimus and Prowl at least understand that he's going to need time to heal before they can see him or even ask him anything. Red Alert is… well, Red. Meaning he's in a fritz about all of this, but Inferno is keeping him calm. The visiting femmes are helping a lot as well -"

That caught Ratchet's interest. "Visiting femmes?"

Patch grinned at his friend. "Yep. Elita and her group are reporting in. Well, more like Elita finally gave in and Chromia and Firestar are very happy individuals at the moment, but nonetheless."

Ratchet groaned and threw an arm over his optics. "Primus must really have something against me."

His fellow medic just grinned at him and stood. "Well, there isn't much you can do about it at the moment, my friend. Rest will do you the most good. Just think, you'll be back to doing what you do best in the next on-cycle."

Ratchet moved his arm a bit, sapphire ice glinting in the shadow still created by the appendage as he gave his friend a non-plussed look. "Yeah, fixing all of your sorry chassis'."

"I was going to say 'screaming and chasing us out of the medical and repair bay', but that works too."

The red and white medic on the berth took one look at the slag eating grin spread across his colleague's faceplates. "You are so lucky I don't have my wrench right now."

Needless to say, Sunstreaker came online snarling about medics and their inabilities to be quiet when mechs were trying to recharge.

There was no stopping the tortured screams that were pouring from his throat like energon from a fountain. Each wrench of a bolt, each twitch of a digit sent waves of agony through his frame, agony that was set ablaze by each new crack of the electro-whip across his already ruined chassis. The lashes paused, and Smokescreen had to fight to keep his frame from going lax with exhaustion, energon loss and pure pain. Even that small effort made his sensors scream, unable to turn them off because of some block that had been downloaded into his data streams.

"Still not going to talk? This could all end so quickly, you know." The mech in front of him crooned mockingly, barely heard over his own labored intakes.

Primus even that burned.

Another cry of pain and a spattering of energon left the swollen, bleeding lipplates of the neutral as his chin was forced up by a single, sharp-clawed digit. His flickering optics, long gone white in pain and resignation were struggling to look defiantly into cruel and insane pools of crimson. He could feel the sharp point digging into the bottom of his chin, rupturing minor cables and plating.

"Just imagine, I could make all of this pain go away with just a twist of my digit right here…" The praxian winced as something was prodded hard and sent another wave of agony down his spinal struts, which he gritted his teeth against. "All I need to hear is the information the bounty hunter left with you. Now wouldn't that be easy? No pain, a life free of the troubles of living…"

Smokescreen was tempted. Oh, Primus, was he tempted.

But he had promised him. He's promised… And the other mech had promised to come back for him. The one with visor.

But how true was that promise? There was a reason he hadn't joined this war yet. Each side was out for their own and only for their own. He shouldn't matter. Most likely didn't.

"Still nothing?" A sharp line of burning sensation that was neither pleasant or comforting originated from where the claw point was continuing to dig into his chin.

'Burn in the pit.'

The silver and black mech leaned in. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"I said…" Smokescreen forced the words from his scream ragged vocalizer, each one raspy and weak… but still full of all his defiance. "Burn in the pit."

Metal rang and echoed in the small confines of the room, new energon joining the congealed mess at the prisoner's pedes. Smokescreen let his helm rest (not that he had any control of the way his body reacted at this point anymore at this point anyways) where it had been lurched sideways. Three fresh gashes across his cheek plating marked where his tormentor had clawed at him.

"Well, if that's how you feel." The voice was deadly cold.

The praxian no longer even had the strength to flinch as the crackling whip was raised once more, but he could still shutter his optics and do his best to brace for the pain… Which never came.

Instead, there was a loud crackling sound, and Smokescreen's optics unshuttered in surprise just in time for the lights to black out with a loud 'pop'. He could see nothing, the sounds of snarling and scuffling, cries of pain, slamming against walls… and then a large explosion rocked the entire building and jarred him on the slab, tearing a cry of agony from his mouth.

He must have blacked out for a klik or two, because when he came to himself again, the black and white mech from before was working frantically at the restraints on his wrists. His legs were already free and he thanked Primus that he had been unconscious when the mech had apparently removed the bolts that had been driven through his wings. He didn't want to contemplate what that might have felt like had he been awake. The remaining throbbing was telling enough.

The restraints on his wrists fell away and he collapsed into a mangled mess into the saboteur's arms. A broken wail left him, pain the only thing he registered, despite the obvious care the Autobot was paying him.

"Sorry, mech. It's gonna be a rough ride."

Smokescreen hurt. Okay, maybe he didn't hurt but he most definitely ached.

Which was much better than hurt. He could do aches. Aches were a good thing.

So what happened?

He could remember pretending to pass out on that slab of metal in the 'interrogation' room of the Decepticon prison. Primus, it had hurt so much. It hurt just to remember it, parts of his frame blazing with the memories of the elctro-whip and the bolts being driven through his doorwings. Oh by the Unmaker, his doorwings… He felt sick now. He wanted to sit up and purge over the side of… a berth?

The praxian psychologist allowed his optics to cycle on, before he was forced to shut them off again. Frag it all that was bright! After a few moments of adjusting to the new environment, he cycled them on again, careful not to look directly at the ceiling.

Yes. That was a berth he was laying on. And this was… neither a cell or the 'room'.

Which meant he had been saved.

Or he was dead.

Although he never imagined death hurting quite so much.

"You're awake."

Unable to move, but still able to panic, Smokescreen yelped and attempted to do what every nerve diode in his body protested against. At least until a very red, very welcomed servo rested on his shoulder.

"Hey! Calm down, it's me!"

Unwilling to believe what his optics were seeing, he let the questioning word fall from his mouth. "Ratchet?"

The tired looking medic smiled kindly. "Yeah. How're you feeling?"

Smokescreen considered. "Like I just came out of a Decepticon interrogation room with a crazy mech behind the whip."

The smile turned into a frown. Apparently the Autobot didn't appreciate the attempt at humor. For that matter, he could admit the attempt had been pretty weak in the first place.

"Probably not what you meant, huh?"

"Not really, no."

Smokescreen attempted a shrug and then winced. "As good as I can be, given the circumstances." He said after he was done gritting his denta against the pain.

A loud snort from the medic sounded far more natural than the quiet subdued voice he'd been using. Smokescreen quickly decided he liked it better. Besides, looking at the mech scowling, he was struck again by how much it looked like he was pouting. And it was cute against the porcelain faceplates.

"Given the circumstances, as you put it, you're lucky to even still be among the online."

"Well, then I count myself lucky."

"Frag it, stop trying to make this into a joke! You do realize Autobot command wants to know just what the pit you did to attract Shockwave's attention!"

"Shock-who now?" Smokescreen couldn't help the grin that spread across his faceplates, despite the ache. But Primus did it feel good to smile without pain.

"You are not funny." Ratchet groused. "Do you even realize that you've been in medical stasis for three orns now? Three! And that's not including the time we were on the transport here! Your doorwings aren't even close to being reconstructed, granted I'm surprised we even have the materials to perform any reconstruction, Your primary and secondary auxiliary pumps were nearly ready to fail, you'd been downloaded with seven different viruses, all of which were tearing at your firewalls and core programming! I don't even want to count how many abrasions I found in your left leg alone!"

"So basically I should be asking myself why I am still alive." Smokescreen concluded lightly. He seemed to think about it seriously for a few moments, but Ratchet's hopes were dashed when he spoke up again. "Primus loves me?"

"You are just determined to get on my last diode, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't say that…" His voice trailed off, as the doors to his private surgical room cycled open with a soft hiss, admitting a crème colored mech he had never seen before… Not that you could see many mechs when you were unconscious.

"Ah!" The stranger's cultured voice was laced with some amount of surprise when he walked in. "I wasn't expecting you be awake so soon."

Smokescreen fought not to flinch as the mech approached, coming far to close for the Praxian's comfort. There was a soft clearing of intakes from Ratchet, the other medic glancing up curiously. A look passed between them and then the mech was backing off.

Smokescreen didn't realize he had tensed until his body relaxed with a distinct ache as the mech made his way to Ratchet instead of the berth.

"Smokescreen…" Ratchet began formally, gesturing to the medic beside himself. "This is a very good friend and my assistant, Patch. He's been overlooking your progress."

The new medic smiled. "Hello."

Ratchet approached Smokescreen who was eyeing the new medic warily and placed a servo on his arm. In a low voice he told the praxian, "Patch has been a very good friend of mine for a long time, and I trust him. I'm not asking you to, but at least let him try to prove himself before you draw conclusions." Smokescreen's gaze turned to the ice blue optics boring into his with absolute sincerity and reassurance. "Can you let him check you over?"

The orange and blue mech glanced at Patch again, who was busying himself, so as not to startle the poor mech. "I can… try… I suppose."

Ratchet's shoulders hunched in relief. "Thank you. Here." The medic pinged Smokescreen with two comm. codes. "That's my code. If you feel for whatever reason you need me back here, I'll come. Jazz has said the same. His is the second one."

"Jazz?"

"The idiot black and white slagger who decided to blow up an entire 'Con base before getting permission from his commanding officers." Ratchet dead panned and was rewarded with a faint smile.

"Alright, I think I'll do that."

Ratchet smiled back, patting Smokescreen's shoulder and left just as Patch approached carefully.

"Now, Smokescreen, I'm just going to do a post-surgery check on your systems. Would you be more comfortable if I told you aloud what I was doing?"

"Please."

Ratchet let the ICU room close as he marched through the main medical bay, on his way to complete something he really didn't want, but felt he needed, to do.

Ratchet could do many things, fix almost any injury or correct any virus he'd ever encountered, speak multiple languages (that he practiced daily when he spewed creative curses at the slagging idiot on this base), possessed the attitude of one who was three times his size and pilled it off wonderfully, the mental control to remain calm in situations that would have others rearing back in fear and then there was the matter of his wrench throwing abilities which many claimed denied the laws of physics.

These thing were natural to him, were an integral part of him.

But this…

This was something as foreign to him as much as Perceptor's explanations of astro-physics were. This was something that just did not come naturally to him, but something felt compelled to do despite the pain in the aft it was turning out to be…

And he really hoped that Red Alert was not recording any of this to add to his forever growing 'Blackmail Cache'.

"Something you need, Docbot?"

He tried not to glare at the two leaning in their doorway. It wasn't their fault he was feeling so awkward, and it wasn't their fault he had decided to come knocking at this orn. He sighed deeply before taking in their stances.

Sunstreaker was projecting the air of one being nonchalant as he leaned against the doorjamb with his arms crossed. He still couldn't fool the trained optic of a fully qualified medic and Ratchet was very aware of he was tensed, ready to strike out as if he were expecting an attack on his person or something similar. Of course, it probably had a lot to do with surprise as well. He was certain the Twins didn't get willing or sober or Commanding officers or non-interface driven mechs often, much less in the middle of the off cycle, show up at their berthroom door wanting to talk to them.

Sideswipe was much more relaxed, his own arms folded behind his helm, most definitely showing off his strong chassis (whether unconsciously or consciously, Ratchet didn't know) as he smirked down at the smaller mech. Which really didn't help Ratchet's nerves. In fact, it was only serving in slagging him off. The two made him feel much smaller than he really was without even trying!

He dropped his gaze to the floor, gathering his resolve. He could do this. Even if it added an un-needed ego boost that the two would possibly hang over his helm for the rest of eternity and possibly even in the Matrix.

Crystal ice optics returned to the pair. "Yes," He wasn't pouting, he swore he wasn't. "I… I came to say…"

He hesitated, frowning as they leaned in as if whatever he was about to say would be the answer to the universe's problems… Or the cure for Degredation Rust. The matching smirks certainly didn't help anything.

He quickly looked back at his pedes, suddenly very interested in the orange tile of the Ark's flooring and not snapping at one of their snickers. Primus, he really hated situations like this. With a deep intake, he forced himself to look back at them, feeling for all of Cybertron like some kind of embarrassed femme with her first crush. And the looks of glee on their faces showed that they knew what he was trying to do, or at least suspected, as their frame language showed that they had completely relaxed now.

The red twin glanced at his brother, a teasing smirk on his face. "Don't tell me we rescued the wrong Ratchet! This one is all mushy and shy!" Sideswipe cried in mock despair, pressing a hand over his chassis as if his spark hurt. If he didn't start treading more carefully right now then it may very well in a few moments. "Sunny! Do you think we can get a refund?"

The medic allowed a growl to make it past his vocalizer. It just seemed to make them cheerier. "I cam here to say," He took a deep, calming intake, both for his nerves and his temper. Then he continued in a low voice that was barely audible as his though front threatened to melt away. "Thank you."

He expected them to break in gales of laughter, instead, when he looked at them again, they were just staring at him.

Did he break them?

He hoped not. He was too frelling tired to reboot their processors.

The silence stretched on and Ratchet was just nigh of walking away and leaving them to their own awkward silence when Sideswipe seemed to gather himself enough to speak,. "Uh… you're welcome, I guess, but you didn't need to -"

"Like Pit!" Ratchet cut him off, suddenly all barbs and needles again. "Prowl has already informed me it wasn't his plan and Jazz is in the brig right now for 'insubordination'. It doesn't take a genius to fit a bolt to a wrench." He deflated again. "And as prideful and obnoxious as I can be, I'm still aware I would have been in worse condition if you had waited for to actually put a plan together to save my aft. You took a risk to yourselves by going to the trouble. So, for what it's worth… Thank You."

As he was talking, he had missed the flash of fury that had passed across each Twin's optics at the mention of 'worse condition', but when he looked up again, determined to see this to its end, the emotion was gone. Sunstreaker shrugged and looked away, not very comfortable with the silence and Sideswipe rubbed the back of his helm awkwardly.

"Uh… yeah, well…" He suddenly grinned, though on the inside he wasn't feeling anything but a warm kind of… acceptance. "That's two you owe us now, doc."

Ratchet frowned. "Two?" He caught the cheeky look on the red twin's faceplates. "Alright, enlighten me."

"You still owed us over that whole Soundscape business. So aren't you going to thank us for that too?" The cheeky grin grew until it stretched across his whole face. "Maybe I can kiss you again and we call it even!"

Ratchet spluttered for several moments in indignation before a pained yelp suddenly filled the hallway and the medic was marching down the hall, grumbling obscenities and swinging a wrench in one bright red servo.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe (the latter of whom was holding a new dent in his helm) smiled after him. After all, and angry, hissy Ratchet was just so much more fun (and more Ratchet) than a bashfully grateful one.


	11. The Start of ... Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And once more we see confusion and maybe a little bit of a love triangle.

Smokescreen stood nervously outside of Jazz’s office. He had been told, courtesy of Patch, that the TIC was hardly ever in there, but he figured he might as well give it a try. The meeting only joors before had left him confused and slightly off his game. Something that Ratchet had managed to help him with if he were merely talking with the medic. But the medic was on leave and was currently raging about it somewhere else in the large ship called the Ark.

Steeling his nerves, Smokescreen forced his doorwings stiff on his back and knocked sharply on the door. He wasn’t really sure why he felt the need to be so… formal with the black and white mech suddenly. They had talked before the meeting just fine, Jazz coming down to visit him in the medbay a few times as he was recovering. He supposed it was the whole finding out he was Third in Command of the entire Autobot Armed Forces. That was a little intimidating.

The door slid aside, revealing stacks of haphazardly stacked datapads and a small layer of dust indicating the office wasn’t used much. Jazz was there this time though, leaning back in his desk chair, pedes up on his desk. Almost, but not quite, relaxed.

“Smokey!” The voice was full of friendly comradee, the accent setting him at ease suddenly. This was a mech he could associate easily as ‘friend’. “Wha’cha need, mech?”

With a small nervous smile, Smokescreen looked at the visored Saboteur. “I’d like to know what I need to do to be an Autobot.”

\----------

“Primus Sideswipe!” Sunstreaker hissed, digits digging into the mesh of the bottom bunk of their berth.

Sideswipe grinned around his brother’s spike, working his way down again, holding Sunstreaker’s hips still. His brother had a tendency to lose control at the most inconvenient of times. Sunstreaker whined, as his brother pulled off with a deep sucking motion and then swallowed him to the hilt again. His optical feed bled to white as he cried out, overload consuming him. Sideswipe swallowed everything given to him before letting the spent spike fall from his mouth. Then his own panel was snapping aside, offering some release to the pressure that had been built behind the plating. He moved up, pushing his twin to his back, hooking his legs over his arms and entering his slick valve in almost the same motion.

Sunstreaker yelped, nearly bent in half by his brother and his valve convulsing over his brother’s spike. Sideswipe groaned, starting a brutal pounding pace. Sunstreaker’s hands shot to his brother’s face, dragging him down for a fierce kiss. Sideswipe growled, thrusting harder and faster into his twin’s body, spike claiming the little used valve with intense movements.

It wasn’t long until Sunstreaker’s valve clamped like a vice on his brother’s spike and Sideswipe shouted his own release as he unloaded in deep inside his brother. They lay there panting, cooling fans roaring to pool cooler air into their internals. 

“Feeling better?” Sideswipe asked with a breathless chuckle. “Know I am.”

“Mmmm…” Sunstreaker groaned, pushing at the red frame. “Yeah, now get off.”

“So much for the afterglow.” Was the surly reply as Sideswipe lifted off Sunstreaker, hissing with post-pleasure as his spike slipped from his brother’s valve. He collapsed to the golden mech’s side and immediately curled against him. Sunstreaker humored his twin’s cuddling with an arm around his waist.

They lay in content silence until Sideswipe rolled on top of his brother to get to the other side of the berth which prompted a loud series of curses and protests from Sunstreaker about his paint. “So I hear that Smokescreen is a ‘Bot now.”

“What do I care?” Sunstreaker grumbled, inspecting his frame from any blemishes that weren’t the result of their coupling. “We all saw it coming.”

“He sure spends a lot of time in the medbay…”

“Course. He has post checkups. Sides, even I know fragging with a Praxian’s doorwings means extensive care.”

“He was completely cleared two orns ago. And he and Ratchet get energon together… a lot.”

“Ratchet’s his own mech. He can decide who he gets energon with…” Sunstreaker replied, but there was a strained note to it this time around. “Why do we care?”

Sideswipe pouted at his brother, scratching at the drying fluid on his abdominal plates. “Come on, we save his life and the possibility of ‘Con enslavement and all we get is a thank you.”

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. “Don’t tell me you were really hoping for that kiss.”

Sideswipe huffed. “I’m being serious Sunny.”

“So am I. So I ask again. Why do we care?” The golden warrior frowned at the ceiling before reaching over to whack at Sideswipe’s back. “And don’t call me Sunny.”

“Whatever.” Sideswipe grumbled. He couldn’t really say why he was bothered by Smokescreen’s obvious interest in the medic. For all he knew, it was a trauma thing. Actually, it most likely was. Yet the idea of the former prisoner sitting and laughing with their medic in the medbay, probably sitting close enough to touch if they wanted to, Smokescreen’s servo resting on a white thigh, moving for a crimson hip – “OW! The frag was that for!?”

“Stop thinking about it!” Sunstreaker snarled, pushing his brother off of the end of the berth, ignoring the loud protests and curses. “I’m going to clean up and then get energon. Fantasize by yourself.”

“I wasn’t fantasizing!”

“Uh-huh, which was why you replaced Smokescreen’s image with one of yourself -”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Whatever glitchface, you were totally thinking it.”

“Was not you yellow pansied aft!”

“YOU-” Sunstreaker launched himself at his brother with a roar.

The fight was on.

\----------

“Hi!”

Ratchet looked up into the friendly faceplates of Patch and he scooted over a bit to give his friend some room at his table. The rec room was crowded today, the soldiers deciding that the best way to welcome a new Autobot into the ranks was to throw a party. Well, at least while he was on the Ark. There was still a chance Smokescreen would be transferred, though pending his own healing phase and the impressions he’d managed to leave on even the command staff was quickly pointing to him staying.

Despite his ordeal, the orange and blue mech fit right in and charmed many of his fellow crewmates with a well placed smile and a friendly joke. Many were happy to have him aboard. Not just because he was a mech easy to know, but because he was chuck full of entertainment. 

Nobody had ever blatantly started a gambling book and gotten away with it.

“Credit for your thoughts?”

Ratchet glanced at his friend again, a smile on Patch’s face. “What?”

“You have that faraway thinking look.” His fellow medic nudged him with his shoulder. “What’s up?”

Ratchet frowned and sat back, swirling his ration in his hand. “Smokescreen.”

“Ah-ha! I knew you’d been spending extra time with him, but I never expected it to progress so quickly.”

The white and red medico gave him a blank stare. “What?”

“You. And Smokescreen.”

Ratchet groaned, letting his helm fall against the wall as he stared at the ceiling like it was the source of all his angst.. “Primus! Not you too! It’s not what any of you think!”

“Then enlighten me.”

“It’s just that… He’s been through a world shattering traumatic event. Something that affected him personally. Hiding information for an Autobot only to come out the other side and realize the information he’s holding is worthless. Out of date. And yet…” He gestured wordlessly to the laughing Praxian three tables away, chatting with a mech called Tracks. They seemed to hit it off pretty well and even a few of those irritating minibots were enjoying the chatter.

His companion hummed and leaned back with Ratchet, staring at the scene himself. The contrast of the laughing, brightly smiling mech as opposed to the terrified near invalid was a huge contrast and one only command and they as his medics knew of. Yes, he could see what Ratchet meant. “I see your point.” He told his friend softly.

“Glad I’m not the only one.”

“Perhaps…” Patch said gently, laying a hand on Ratchet’s arm. “He needs more than just comrades. Maybe he needs a friend.”

Ratchet grunted and nothing more was said for the rest of his break.

\----------

“Being kind of quiet, aint’cha doc?”

Ratchet growled, never taking his optics from the tear in Ironhide’s chest armor, making sure to keep his welding straight. It wouldn’t be the first time Ironhide (or many others) came out with a jagged weld because they’d seen fit to aggravate their CMO. Patch was seeing to some new trainees and Overscore had been transferred shortly after Smokescreen and Ratchet’s incarceration. Nobody really missed him. Least of all the Twins.

“Ya ignoring meh, Doc-bot?” That was definitely amusement in Ironhide’s drawl.

“My name is not ‘Doc’.” The medic replied testily. Seriously, was it a game to test his temper?

“Oh, right, sorreh Hatchet.”

Apparently it was.

Ratchet quickly finished with the weld before finally turning his full glare on one of only three mechs who didn’t flinch under it. In fact, the red mech was smiling. Broadly. “If there’s something you want to say, spit. It. Out.” He growled, throwing his dirtied tools in a wash bin that one of the trainees was working at getting emptied. He heard the groan at more work being thrust upon them, but was too busy trying to make lasers spring from his optics just to zap that annoyingly ‘I know something’ grin from Ironhide’s face.

“Ah said yer bein’ awful quiet.”

“Uh huh.” Ratchet was unimpressed, hands on hips and one optic ridge quirked above unamused optics and a sharp scowl.

“Normally yer threatenin’ something vital fer doin’ somethin’ as stupid as lettin’ a trainin’ drone run ya through. So…” Ironhide sat up and leaned forward. “What’s on yer mind?”

“Nothing.” The medic grunted.

“Nothin?” Now it was Ironhide’s turn to raise an optic ridge. “Ah’m not convinced.”

“Nothing that concerns you, nor is it something that will keep me from doing my job.” His tone clearly said drop it. Ironhide’s expression clearly said he wouldn’t.

“Come on, Ratch.” The Weapons Master sighed. “Ah’m yer friend. And ya look like ya need ta unburden ta somebot.”

“You’re not going to just let it go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Didn’t thing so. Ratchet thought with a sigh and he moved to clean up his station. While the trainees or medic aides normally handled the grunt tasks such as these, Ratchet took it as a convenient excuse to not have to move onto his paperwork and to talk to Ironhide. The white and red mech would never admit it, but he really did need someone to talk to. “It’s about Smokescreen.”

Ironhide stared at him a moment before grunting. “Huh, would have thought this was about the Twins.” Ratchet shot him a questioning look, but he waved it off. “Nevermind. What about the kid?”

Ratchet gave an aggravated sigh. He would harass Ironhide later for the meaning to his assumption. “He’s older than Prowl, Hide.”

“And Ah’m older than half the fraggin’ army. Yer all kids, far as Ah’m concerned. Now don’t avoid the question.”

“Yeah, yeah. Old timer.” He grinned at Ironhide’s shrug, the bigger mech letting the jab roll off his shoulders. He sighed again. “I’m not sure he’s ready for battle of any kind.”

“Nobot’s ever ready, Ratch. But what in particular? Physically, he checks out.”

“Yes, physically. Mentally, I’m worried. Then again, I’m not the psychiatrist, he is.”

“Yer worried his ordeal has more lastin’ effects then he’d like us ta think.”

Ratchet nodded as the fear was renamed for Ironhide after the brief talk with Patch in the rec room. “I don’t want him flipping out in the middle of a battle where it could cost him his life. Or relapsing when I don’t have the resources to get to him!”

“Kid’s really wound himself into yer spark, there.” The red mech mused thoughtfully.

“Puh-lease.” Ratchet snorted. “I’m his doctor, I’m supposed to worry.”

“But not ta this degree.” Ironhide sighed as well. “Ratch, Ah’ll test ‘im mahself. And if I think there’s a problem, Ah’ll bring it up ta Prahm.” He watched Ratchet relax hyst a little before he also said, “You need ta focus on more important things. Like not avoidin’ yer star patients.”

Ratchet tensed immediately. “I’m not avoiding anybody.”

His old friend grinned. “Ah’m callin’ pitscrap. Ya don’t even talk ta the twins outside of an injury when before ya were at each other’s necks like Megatron and Starscream.” The glare he received would have had a lesser mech wanting the floor to swallow them. “ Oh, don’t give meh that look, medic, ya know Ah’m right no matter how disturbin’ the imagery.”

And he was, frag him. Ever since his apology he just felt so awkward about seeing them. And it wasn’t really the apology. It was Sideswipe’s comment. He’d honestly been tempted to take him up on that offer of a kiss, despite the fact he knew the red mech had been teasing. As soon as he’d realized that, he’d hightailed it back to his quarters to get some recharge and hopefully stop thinking such ridiculous things. Because it had to have been recharge deprivation. Only it wasn’t. And now he could hardly look at their faces, let alone look at them in the optic.

“Ah think yer fixatin’ on this Smokescreen dilemma ta avoid the real problem. And that problem consists of you needin’ a gppd fraggin’. Probably from the - ” 

The sudden voice jerked him from his sullen silence and his glare became even deadlier, cobalt blue glinting almost Sunstreaker ice as Ratchet interrupted. “Finish that sentence, Ironhide and I will not only weld your mouthplates shut, I will grind your vocalizer into scrap and sent it to the smelter.” 

Ironhide held up his servos. “Alright, Ah’ll drop it, but frag it Ratch ya gotta do somethin’. Ah ain’t ever seen Sideswipe mope so much.” The mech stood and stretched. “And no worries, Ratchet. Ah’ll look inta Smokey’s thing fer ya.”

Ratchet watched him go with a gimlet optic until his ‘old friend’ (he wasn’t sure he was hospitable enough to call him a comrade let alone friend at the moment) left, the doors swishing shut on him and two aides who had followed him out, their shifts ended. The medic shook his helm and caught a few curious eavesdroppers and they all flinched when it became clear they were caught.

“What the frag are you all looking at? Get back to work!”

They did just that and Ratchet watched them a few moments longer before turning back to his own work, grumbling and raging to himself. A good frag with the twins. HA! As if that would ever happen.

So why did it sound like such a good idea?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are nice :3 Kudos are too.


End file.
